Breaking Down Barriers
by TGIsterek
Summary: Stiles and Derek live on opposite sides of a fence, and Stiles may be the only solution to knocking it down.
1. The Therianthropy Virus

**Note: Yo, so this is to celebrate my 1k follower milestone on tumblr. It's premise is kinda based off of The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas by John Boyne, with some obvious changes to suit the universe. It's not beta'd, but it should be fine. If there's any errors let me know. There's no actual interaction between Stiles and Derek just yet, this chapter is basically just setting the premise. Enjoy!**

Stiles leaves Allison's just as it turns nine o'clock. It's dark out already, and it's cold enough to see his breath billow out his mouth. He zips up his hoodie as he makes his way to the jeep, throwing his back pack into the back seat.

The growl of his stomach gives the growl of the engine a run for its money, and all he wants to do now is heat up the lasagne at home and curl up in bed and watch Parks and Rec. He hums at the plan, reversing out of the driveway.

His plan comes to an abrupt end with a splutter from the engine, and then car is suddenly slowing down.

"No, no, no, no, no," he whines, pulling onto the side of the road. He shoves at the wheel with his palm, sinking into his seat sighing. "Great, that's just great."

He grabs his back pack from the back seat and gets out of the car, popping the hood to take a look. It takes about two minutes of huffing while rooting around the engine to realise he has no fucking idea what he's even looking at before slamming the hood back down again.

He rests his elbows on the hood, head in his hands, only now taking in his surroundings. He's on a road in the middle of the woods, in the dead of night, with a broken down jeep. To make it worse, the doors locked, and his keys are inside.

Scratch that, he's on a road in the middle of the woods, in the dead of night, with a broken down jeep, stranded. He rests his forehead against the window, steadying out his aggravated breaths.

"Could it get any worse?" he says to nobody in particular. Hopefully. As if on cue a droplet of rain hits the back of his neck, followed by a roar of thunder. If he screams with rage after that, well, he's the only one around to hear it.

He quickly, reluctantly, calls his dad, and he agrees to come pick him up straight away. Apparently, even after the rain, his night _could_ get even worse. His attention is caught by a swirl of blue light in the distance.

It disappears almost as quickly as it showed up, and it was moving fast. He quirks an eyebrow, choosing to hold his back pack over his head rather than investigate the dark, creepy woods and whatever inhabits it.

His father arrives within the next few minutes, and if this is the first time he's thankful to see his father in years, well, he's not going to say it out loud. He quickly hops in, throwing his bag in the backseat and offers his thanks.

The silence that hangs between him and his father is long and awkward, and speaks for the years of tension left to resonate between them. The only sounds are the pitter-patter of rain hitting the windshield and the low hum of the engine.

Not even Stiles can think of a way to fill the silence, not that he expected any chatter between them in the first place.

He sits hunched in his seat staring out the window, completely avoiding the sight of his father next to him. It's pointless, there's nothing to see only rain drops running down the window and the forest completely covered by darkness.

He sighs as his phone buzzes in his pocket, and when he takes it out it's from Danny. It's a simple text for such a complex plan.

**From: Danny**

**5:30 tomorrow**

His father doesn't even glance over at him as he pushes the phone back in his pocket without responding, doesn't even ask about the text. Stiles is glad of it, he doesn't want the only thing he says to his father tonight to be a lie.

Instead, he sits quietly and drums his fingers against the door, looking anywhere but too far left. His attention is immediately brought to the radio when it sounds, and his father's head quickly turns to it.

"Attention all officers, a TH51 has been sighted entering the Beacon Hills Preserve. I repeat, a TH51 at the Beacon Hills Preserve. White male, bald, six feet tall." His father immediately pulls the radio to his mouth.

"On it," is all he says before turning on the sirens to the cruiser and increasing speed. Stiles has listened in on enough of his father's calls to know what a TH51 is.

"You can't do this," Stiles says, sitting up. His father quickly glances over at him but doesn't respond as he picks up speed. "Dad, you can't do this!"

"Stiles, I'm not having this conversation anymore. It's my job to keep this town safe, no matter the circumstances."

"What, even if it means imprisoning an innocent person?" he argues, even though he knows his efforts will be in futile.

"It isn't a prison, Stiles, it's a facility." Stiles scoffs at his father's ignorance. "They're brought there for a reason; to get help!" Stiles gives him a levelling look, his father seemingly unaffected.

"They're still people, they don't deserve this kind of treatment."

"Tell that to the families of all the people they've killed."

"You mean you've killed." His father's eyes widen at him, and Stiles realizes that he's probably gone too far. His father doesn't open his mouth for what feels like an eternity, a heavy silence filling the air.

"We're helping them," he says evenly. "Both the infected and the uninfected."

Stiles is about to argue his point when the car suddenly comes to a stop, his father raising a hand in protest when Stiles opens his mouth to speak. Stiles abruptly shuts it.

"I'm not having this conversation anymore. I have a job to do, regardless of your feelings on the matter. Now stay here and wait for me to come back." His father leaves the car before Stiles can even tell him how he's so _not_ going to wait in the car.

Especially when his father takes something from the trunk and runs passed his window with a rifle in one of his hands. It's almost like he's trying to get Stiles to follow him. He waits and counts up twenty agonizing seconds before following him into the woods.

As he runs he regrets his decision to not have thought to bring a jacket. He's freezing and wet, but it doesn't deter him. He pushes himself further, squinting to focus on his father's dark figure in the distance. He steps over a root sticking out of the ground and shimmies through the tight gap between two trees.

It's when he's sure he's lost track of his father when he hears a gunshot ahead of him and a distant snarl. Stiles pauses before immediately giving chase again. He almost slips in the mud as he sprints down a steep hill.

When he comes to the bottom he sees his father standing fifty feet away from him, aiming his rifle at the man in the distance and fires.

"No, wait!" he calls, but his father ignores him in favour of giving chase yet again. The guy has slowed down significantly as his father draws nearer. He runs into a small clearing and his father pauses when the man stops running. There's barely a second between the sound of a shot and the howl that comes from him.

"Dad!" he calls, but his father hurries to the small clearing and roughly tugs the man to his knees, his clothes and face all plastered in mud. Stiles stops at the edge of the clearing, knowing there's nothing he can do now.

The man's eyes glow a pale blue in the dark, and large tufts of hair stick out from both sides of his face. There's a bullet hole in his leg, and his white tee shirt is collecting blood where his father must have nicked him the first time.

The bullets must have been wolf's bane, it's the only way they can be slowed down. He looks so helpless where he's kneeling on the wet ground, clothes plastered in mud and blood. He looks angry, his brow furrowed in a way they always are.

He sees a flash of red and blue lights in the distance, they must be near a road, and the faint sound of sirens draw closer. His father tightens a pair of silver handcuffs around the man's wrist, jerking back when the man snaps his large fangs at him.

"This," he points to the man's snapping mouth, "is why they're dangerous". Stiles doesn't reply as he watches more officers arrive, some of them wearing a different uniform that belongs to the ATC.

They quickly haul the man to his feet, roughly shoving him forward towards the van in the distance. One of them hangs back to shake his father's hand, offering his thanks before they both begin walking in the same direction to the van.

Stiles joins them, keeping to the back of the group as they reach the armoured van and the accompanying police cars. The side of the van reads 'ATC: Argent Therianthropy Control'. Even the sight of his name has Stiles' stomach turning, and he wants nothing more now than to be anywhere but here.

He's pulled from his thoughts when one of the workers approaches him when they come to a stop. He offers his hand, to which Stiles barely refrains from slapping away, shaking it instead with a tight smile.

"You and your father did good tonight, kid," he says, like his father has just done some sort of good deed for the community. These people make him sick. Stiles nods once, something the man must mistake for fear, because suddenly he's gripping his shoulder.

"Don't worry, it's going to get help. It can't hurt you." It_ is a person_, he wants to bite back, but his thoughts are interrupted when the man in handcuffs tries to resist, but is quickly pistol whipped and pushed into a seat in the back of the van.

He swipes his claws at an ATC worker who ties chains attached to the floor around his handcuffs. They close the door on his vicious snarl, and Stiles wants to hurl.

The guy offers him a smile, taking Stiles' hand and closing it around a brochure. "Be safe," he says, and offers his father a nod before getting into the van.

He and his father watch the ATC van leave with the other police cars in silence. When they're out of sight, his father wordlessly turns around and heads back for the car. Stiles doesn't follow, instead walking in the opposite direction of his father.

He can't stand the sight of him right now. He looks down at the brochure. 'The Therianthropy Virus' it reads in bold letters, followed by bullet points of information on it, like they're some kind of sick individuals.

If Stiles stops twice to puke, well, only the owls are around to judge him.

::: :::

Derek Hale is infected with the Therianthropy Virus. Therianthropy; the Greek term, when translated, means 'wild animal'. Another translation, as most would describe it, is 'beast'.

The discovery came roughly five years ago, maybe less. It was classed as a mutation of the rabies virus that was originally carried by wolves. The Therianthropy Virus is an infection in the bloodstream passed on to humans through the bite or the scratch of rabid wolves. That's what they were led to believe, anyway.

Once carried by a human, it could then be transferred to another through the same means. Symptoms included mental instability, deformed facial features, surges in energy and strength and a change in eye color. The most important signs of this infection are the elongation of finger nails and teeth.

Treatment has been carried out by an organization by the name 'ATC: Argent Therianthropy Control.' Once infected, patients are immediately transferred to an ATC Facility of Rehabilitation and housed there until a cure can be found.

Obviously there is no cure, because all of this is a lie. There is no infection, no disease, and certainly no virus.

Derek Hale is a werewolf, or as the world likes to call him, a Therianthrope. 'Infection'? Derek prefers 'gift'. 'Argent Therianthropy Control'? Derek uses the term 'hunters'. 'Facility of Rehabilitation'? Well, let's just say it's more of a prison than a facility, and it's where Derek's lived for four years now.

There was an accident here last night, more of a tragedy actually. Greenberg hadn't been taking his 'medication' apparently. Medication, as in wolf's bane pills designed to limit their abilities. It weakens them, their strength, and they can't heal as fast as they could. It affect their senses too, although alpha's to a lesser degree.

It takes away the animal in them, the half of their soul that makes them different to humans. Derek's sure they're the only reason they're allowed to walk freely around the place, so he takes it.

And Greenberg, like the idiot that he was, thought that after three years of not shifting he would be able to do it perfectly in the hopes of escaping. Derek's seen it happen countless times before, even Greenberg has.

But the thing is, when you haven't shifted in so long, your body forgets how to do it. Its different this time, you lose control like a wolf without an anchor, or a newly turned beta without its alpha. Instead of shifting into a werewolf, you turn into a raging, out of control monster.

Even the alpha's like Derek or even Satomi would have trouble shifting. Even Peter, an alpha, couldn't keep himself in control without an anchor. Greenberg was just an omega, he didn't stand a chance.

It came out of nowhere last night, it was after curfew, and Derek was lying in bed. One second there was utter silence, and then chaos. A loud, animal-like roar rung through the facility, and Derek was sure his bed shook with it.

He was on his feet in seconds, ear pressed against the cold, steel door of his cell.

There was a sharp thud, a screech of metal, followed by another clearer roar that sounded so similar to Peter that Derek had trembled with it. Memories of the fire flooded his thoughts, and before he even realize, he was curled in on himself on his bed.

There were no characteristics associated with that roar, nothing Greenberg about it. It was the same with Peter. It sounded monstrous, but he supposes that's all they are once they go feral, nothing of the person they once were. Nobody behind the fangs and glowing eyes, just uncontrollable rage.

His ears rung when the gunfire came, he didn't stand a chance, and flashes of the day of the fire clouded his vision that looked and sounded so real that he could have sworn he was still there. The gunfire came to an abrupt end, and so did the screeching of metal and low snarls.

He wonders if that's the same fate Peter was dealt. Just a bullet to the head without a second thought to spare. He hasn't seen Peter since the day they were admitted, so his hunch is probably reality.

His mind stayed with Peter all night, and after hours of tossing and turning he drifted off into a restless sleep. He's surprised he got any sleep at all, but when he did he had nightmares that he can remember vividly. It's the same recurring nightmare he's had since the day he came here.

His dream was clouded with thick, black smoke that filled his lungs with every inhale. There was nothing in his sight only falling sparks and an orange haze highlighting the blinding smoke. The sound of crackling wood of his home and the screams of his burning family surrounded him.

A wild roar- Peter- came from the distance, and then there was silence.

Derek woke in a cold sweat, jerking upright and panting for clean oxygen with tear-stained cheeks. He frantically glanced around the room, eye flicking every which way as he tried to make sense of the dark. It took him a moment to realize where he was, and he sighed as he dropped down onto the pillow, still panting.

The sun was only beginning to rise, an orange glow advancing on the night sky. He didn't even try and go back to sleep, he never can after that particular nightmare. Instead, he got out of bed and dropped to the floor, doing push-ups to relieve some pent-up energy.

He was running on adrenaline, and he didn't stop until he could barely feel his arms anymore. It's been a while since he's had this dream, and he doesn't doubt that it was last night that caused it to plague him again.

When he stands back up again, he remakes his bed and sits at the end of it, bare feet resting on the cold, hard floor. He bent down and reached under the bed for his box of belongings. It's just a cardboard box with a piece of paper inside, he didn't have anything on him the day he came here.

He rests the box on his lap, pulling off the lid and taking out the folded piece of paper. He opens it, some of the ink faded from fallen tear drops and the page itself yellowing with age. It's not as dark anymore, the early morning sun illuminating the room enough for him to make out the words.

_To whom it may concern,_

_It is our deepest regret to inform you that on the afternoon of April 27__th__ 2010, Peter Hale of 117 Oakwood Lane, born November 19__th__ 1975, was diagnosed with the Therianthropy Virus. He has since been moved to a secure ATC Facility of Rehabilitation located in Beacon Hills._

_Argent Therianthropy Control provides the highest standard of accommodation for all of its patients. We pride ourselves on the quality of facilities that we have to offer. All treatment and studies are carried out in a way that is both safe and comfortable for the individual. Rest assured, our patients are in safe hands._

_Due to the nature of the Therianthropy Virus, any and all form of communication with patients is strictly prohibited. There will be no exceptions. Please refrain from trying to contact a loved one during their stay in our facility. This includes letters, phone calls and personal visits._

_If you have any information to provide to the ATC, please do not hesitate to get in contact through any means as listed on the back of this letter. For more information on the Therianthropy Virus, see the pamphlet accompanied with this letter._

_Once again, you have our condolences on the matter._

_Sincerely,  
>Gerard Argent,<br>Founder and Head of the ATC._

Derek sighs, staring at it for a long time before he folds it back over twice and puts it back under the bed in its box. That could have easily been the thousandth time he's read that letter. He scoots back up the bed and lies on his side, resting his head on his pillow.

When a relative is admitted to the facility it's always a letter, never a personal visit, not even a phone call. Nothing but a letter and a pamphlet of information to go with it. It's cold and impersonal, but he wouldn't have expected anything different from an organization run by Gerard Argent. He doesn't know why he even got a letter considering he came here with Peter.

He knows what it meant, though, the harsh truth that he was the last Hale left alive. That there was nobody on the outside to send it to, that not even Peter's wife and kids had survived the fire. He knew his parents and Laura were dead, why else would he be the alpha?

He wonders if Peter got a letter, too. He wonders if they ever got him to calm down, or if he even lived long enough to receive a letter at all. He knows the odds are slim. He sighs at nobody in particular, alphas aren't allowed to have cellmates.

He closes his eyes and doesn't open them until he hears the door unlocking. His eyes open to a now brightly-lit room, and he rolls over to see the same old cracked ceiling that's greeted him every morning. The walls are dull and grey, and the bed sheets are a faded navy blue.

When the door finally opens he's greeted with the faint but uninviting twang of burnt metal and blood. Greenberg's blood, no doubt. The usual nurse approaches him as he sits up, but makes no move to leave once he takes the grey cup out of her hand. He looks down at the purple wolf's bane pill, the same one Greenberg hadn't been taking.

His instincts scream for him to get away from it, the scent of it tearing his throat and lungs like a knife with every breath. He holds the cup with quivering hands, lip trembling as the cup reaches his mouth. The nurse watches him, unmoving still.

He rolls his eyes out of her sight and tilts his head back, swallowing the pill and feeling it burn his insides as it passes through his system. When she seems satisfied she moves on to the next cell. Last night must have been bad if they're being monitored over it.

He quickly throws a shirt on and makes his way out into the hall, and if last night didn't seem real enough, the sight before him definitely is. A piece of jagged metal that was formerly Greenberg's cell door sits in the middle of the hallway, nothing but hinges left at the doorway of the cell.

Deep, thick scratches line the floor, walls and ceiling, which are all coated with streaks and drops of blood. It makes him want to throw up, but on the bright side, they had the decency to move his body.

He wonders what happened to his roommate Jared.

He glances at all the debris, supposing there's a reason behind why it hasn't been cleaned up yet. He knows this is a message, telling all the wolves that this is what happens when you don't follow the rules. They're big on setting examples like that. He hopes to God everyone listens.

When the reality of what happened hits him, he quickly tears himself away from the mess and moves down the hall. His heartbeat echoes in his ears as he picks up the pace, willing the anxiety pooling in his stomach away.

He heads to the cafeteria without an ounce of hunger, his stomach already full with the feeling of dread.

The heavy steel doors to the cafeteria slide open, and he immediately spots his make-shift pack across the room. Erica, Isaac and Boyd are all huddled around their usual table. Seeing his betas soothes him significantly, and he takes the seat next to Isaac across from Boyd and Erica.

"You hear the news?" Boyd asks in lieu of an actual greeting. He sighs quietly, he should have known last night's events would have been the gossip of the whole facility.

"Hear it? I saw it." All three raise their eyebrows in shock, and honestly, he thought everyone would have known by now considering how fast word travels in this place. "Blood everywhere." He figured they wouldn't have seen it, Derek's cell is the furthest from the cafeteria.

"I never liked him anyway," Erica responds without an ounce of sympathy. It's a character trait he'll never wrap his head around, how someone so pleasant could be so cold at times.

"Erica!" Isaac scolds, sharing a look with Boyd with an expression that makes it seem like he isn't as outraged as he appears to be.

"What?" she shrugs, taking a mouthful of food. "It's _Greenberg_. It's not like he'll be missed." Isaac and Boyd chuckle. Derek doesn't find it so funny, but he doesn't say as much. At the end of the day it's another werewolf marked off Gerard Argent's list. One day, it will be their names with a line running through them.

"Derek," Isaac says, snapping him out of his thoughts. Something in his tone suggests it's not the first time he's called him. Isaac gently pulls his fingers away from where he was gripping the table so hard his knuckles were turning white. He hadn't even realized he was doing it. "Want to come get some food?"

"No, um- I'm not hungry," he replies weakly. To Isaac's flat look, he sighs, knowing there's probably an ulterior motive in there somewhere. He unwillingly stands and follows Isaac into the queue, both of them grabbing trays. He taps his fingers against the tray idly as they wait for the queue to move forward.

Isaac is different to the others, he and Derek have had a tightly knit bond since he arrived here. Both of them losing their families and being betrayed by people they love brought them closer together. He's the only person Derek has ever opened up to about his last few months of freedom.

It's something he could never quite include Erica and Boyd in, they wouldn't understand like Isaac does. Isaac's mother died when he was a little boy, and his father blamed him for it ever since. When his father found out he had been bitten he reported Isaac to the ATC.

His brother died trying to protect him, and it's something that hangs on Isaac's shoulders every day. Derek gets it, the overwhelming weight of guilt crushing you. It's hard to keep standing on your own two feet with it, as cliché as it sounds.

"You okay?" Isaac asks over his shoulder, eyes flicking down to where Derek is anxiously tapping against his tray. Derek abruptly stops, clearing his throat as he urges Isaac further down the line.

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure, you seem a little jumpy t-"

"Isaac," he cuts in, a stern warning for him to drop it. "I said I was fine." Isaac stares at him for a moment before swallowing, nodding as he dips his head down and turns.

"Yeah, sorry," he says quietly. "I just- I'm here." Derek sighs, any tension he was feeling dissipating. He pats Isaac's shoulder and rests his hand there for a moment, taking it away with a squeeze, just to show he appreciates the sentiment. Isaac perks up again, a small smile on his face when he glances over his shoulder to Derek.

They walk back to their table in silence, Derek walking by his side empty handed, having abandoned his tray at the end of the queue when Isaac was done. McCall, another omega, rounds one of the tables and walks towards them.

"Hey," he smiles brightly at Isaac as he passes Derek, ignoring his presence completely. It's something he's done for the past four years, and honestly, Derek doesn't blame the kid. There's something different about him today, though, his scent is off.

Isaac smiles back and replies, and once Scott passes them completely he looks over his shoulder at his retreating figure. He takes a deep breath, the faint smell already fading.

"Derek?" Isaac asks. Only now does he realize that he's stopped walking, just standing in the aisle watching McCall. He knew Isaac missed it, his senses aren't strong enough as a beta to notice it. "You okay?"

Derek takes one more glance at McCall before he continues walking. "Fine," he says, ignoring the suspicious look Isaac is giving. He knows that smell.

It was the undeniable, prohibited, sweet smell of sugar.

::: :::

Stiles groans as his alarm sounds for the fourth time this morning. He flings an arm out from where he's curled up in a ball with his blankets wrapped around him like a burrito. He taps around the bedside locker with his extended finger until he finally catches the snooze button on his phone. He hoped that after pressing it four times already it would have taken the hint.

He's exhausted, having coming home late after walking home from the preserve in the blistering cold and rain. His father was already in bed when he came home, which suited him fine because he couldn't face him after what he did.

He immediately jumped in the shower and then sat up late finishing his Econ homework that he planned on doing once his father drove him home last night.

He curls back in on himself, whining when a shimmer of light passes over his face through an opening in the blanket. If he doesn't get up now, he'll definitely be late for school. Considering the time he's spent sleeping in, he'll be lucky to get there before first bell.

"Come on, get up or you'll be late," his father calls in as he passes by the open door and goes in into the bathroom, seemingly forgetting the tension between them and what happened last night. Either that, or he's ignoring it completely.

Stiles rolls onto his back, pouting when he pushes the blanket away from his face so he can breathe again. He squints again at the open curtains, eyes adjusting to the light. Why does the world have to be so bright?

He sighs, willing himself to sit up and climbs out of bed, waiting for his father to finish up in the bathroom and head down the stairs before leaving his bedroom. He pads down the hall in his pyjamas, stretching his arms out with a wide yawn. He opts to skip taking a shower to spare himself some time before school. He took one last night so he should be fine in that department.

When he comes out of the bathroom he hears his father shuffling around loudly downstairs. He shrugs before going back to his room to get dressed. He slips on a black t-shirt, skinny jeans and his converse while simultaneously packing books into his bag.

As he walks down the stairs he's zipping up his backpack while it hangs on one shoulder while trying to put on his red hoodie with his free hand. He bypasses the living room in favour of putting a couple of poptarts in the toaster and rushes through a quick cup of coffee. He saw his father as he passed, looking behind the couch cushions.

He holds his steaming poptarts in a piece of tissue as he heads towards the front door, stopping by the living room when he sees his father crouched on his hands and knees looking under an armchair.

"I'm going to school," he says simply, throwing a thumb towards the door. His father startles, jerking his head up from the floor.

"Okay. You haven't seen my keys anywhere, have you?" Stiles barely contains his disappointed sigh and points to the kitchen instead.

"Have you tried your coffee cup? You usually leave them in there when you're finished." His father watches him in consideration, nodding shortly as he moves to the kitchen without as much as a goodbye.

Stiles watches him leave, taking his keys off the hook and placing his hand on the handle.

"Bye, Dad," he says quietly, his voice small as he opens the door. He waits a moment in the threshold for a response.

"Bye," his father says from the kitchen, too busy looking for his keys to say it to his face or offer a farewell hug. "Have a good day," _Son. Kiddo._

Stiles scoffs at his expectations, his father hasn't called him 'son' in years. He quietly closes the door and is surprised to find his jeep in the driveway. His father must have had a deputy drop it off. He gets in, blinking a few times before turning the ignition and reversing out of the driveway.

He arrives at the school fifteen minutes later thanks to a few traffic mishaps, poptarts well and truly eaten. The first bell is just ringing as he hops out of the jeep, quickly crossing the parking lot.

He spots Allison in the distance, coming out of her own car, and he waves, sparing a couple of seconds for her to wave back before dashing for the entrance. He quickly grabs his book from his locker and heads to English.

Thankfully, Miss Blake is late herself, so he slips into his seat next to Lydia before she arrives to class. She offers him a nod, which he returns with a smile as Miss Blake steps into the room.

The day drags on from there, and all he wants to do is get out and go see Scott. It feels like more than just a few hours have passed when the lunch bell rings. He makes his way to the cafeteria and carries his tray of food to the table where his friends are.

Lydia and Jackson sit together on one side of the table, and Allison sits next to Stiles' vacant spot across from Lydia. While he wouldn't exactly call Jackson his friend, they've certainly got passed the whole I-can't-stand-the-sight-of-you phase.

He takes a seat next to Allison who offers him a pleased greeting alongside Lydia. Jackson just nods without stopping mid-sentence to say hi, continuing with some story that only Lydia seems to be invested in.

"Hey, you okay?" Allison nudges his side, pointedly looking at where he's just pushing his food around the tray.

"Yeah," he shrugs. "I'm just a little tired, is all." It's only a half-lie, but somehow he doesn't think she's fallen for it. His suspicions are confirmed when she rises from the table and pulls him to his feet.

"Lydia, you still collecting me later?" Jackson does stop mid-sentence this time when Lydia turns away from him.

"Of course," she says determinedly as Allison intertwines her fingers with Stiles' and drags him away.

"Collect me before five!" he calls, and they both offer him pitiful smiles as Allison pulls him out of the cafeteria completely. They end up on the bleachers, watching Finstock kick up a fuss at the freshman lacrosse team.

He and Scott used to do this when they were freshman, before Stiles joined the team and Scott was taken away in an ATC van. Heckling Coach at lunch time was always a weekly routine with them.

"What's up?" Allison asks after a few minutes of silently watching Coach yell at some kid on the brink of tears. Stiles doesn't answer, doesn't tear his gaze away from the lacrosse field. "Is it Scott?"

The mention of his name has him turning to meet her eyes. He swallows, nodding. "I don't know. Maybe?" he shrugs. Allison grips his hand with hers.

"Stiles, what happened?"

"My dad," is all he says, but from the weak smile Allison gives him, he supposes that it's enough of an explanation. "He caught another one last night."

"Things will get better," she says reassuringly, like she actually believes it.

"You know, I used to think so, too. Now?" he blinks, "I'm not so sure." Allison grips his hands tighter in her own, shifts closer to him as Finstock throws a clipboard at the goalie who bats it away with his crosse.

"Oh, sure, you can catch that," he grumbles. They both laugh, some of the awkwardness fading away.

"I miss him," she says after a long moment of silence. Stiles nods, not turning to look at her, eyes fixed on the distance.

"He misses you, too."

"It's just my dad and my grandfather and-" Stiles shushes her, and she falls silent.

"I know. He knows. He understands what would happen if you got caught. He doesn't want you risking your safety for him." She swallows, staring into his eyes like she'll find some loophole in his words, like they're anything but the truth.

She nods, blinking away tears. "We'll get him out of there. We'll find a way." Stiles smiles sadly at her.

"Do you really think so?"

"I believe so. I _know_ we will," she says determinedly, like she can't _not_ believe it. Stiles wishes he could share her optimism, but somehow, he's not entirely convinced they could pull something like that off.

After four years, they still have yet to find the slightest piece of damning evidence on Gerard. So far he's come up clean in every way possible, the only lead Stiles could think of burned in a fire four years ago.

"Okay," he says quietly, drawing her into a hug that turns into her resting her head against his shoulder, his arm slung around her and rubbing soothing circles into her arm. He thinks she needs this more than he does.

They watch the field where Coach looks like he's about to pull out every hair on his head. They don't move an inch until the next bell signals the end of lunch, and even then they're both reluctant to let go.

Eventually they do part, and Stiles heads for history while Allison and Lydia go to art. He finds some of the tension in his shoulders from this morning already dissipating.

::: :::

It's later on in the afternoon when Isaac catches up with Derek again. Thankfully since then, the workers have cleaned up their little show in the hallway. It's safe to say the message has been well and truly received, so much so that there's word of a meeting going around.

He doesn't think it's likely, there's never been a meeting before, even after a situation like this one. He doesn't know where these rumours even start in the first place, probably with that punk Aiden. He doesn't know how to explain it, the whole facility is just on edge today.

He's been a little off himself today, but that's more to do with the nightmares than anything else. He's been working on pure energy all day, and he felt like he was going to go crazy cooped up in his room. That's when he decided to get out of there and make his way to the exercise yard.

That's where Isaac found him later.

"So, what do you think this means for us" he hears Isaac ask. He's sitting cross-legged on the ground next to Derek as he bench presses in the exercise yard. Derek is still relieving some pent-up nervous energy from the night before. He finds it more therapeutic than any session with Morrell ever will.

Isaac isn't one for really moving much. Isaac's the kind of guy who prefers to just sit around on a couch all day. He didn't ask to be bitten, so he doesn't have much interest in taking advantage of his new abilities.

That, and he doesn't see the point in training if he'll never get the chance to make use of it.

Derek admires his optimism, but Isaac's just that kind of guy. Not to say Derek is any more or less optimistic than Isaac, but he has a secret hope that one day this will all blow over and Gerard Argent will be caught for all the foul play going on in here behind closed doors.

Derek pauses with the weights half way down, putting them back on the stand and sitting up. "What?" he asks, wiping the sweat gathering on his forehead. With the pills, it's a lot easier to get tired. It's something he's still adjusting to, having spent his entire life with supernatural strength.

"The feral," Isaac clarifies, squinting as the sun shines in his eyes. "What do you think it means?" Derek pauses, considering him, before sliding down the bench to make room for him. He joins Derek on the bench, patiently waiting as Derek considers an answer that won't cause him too much anxiety.

"I don't know," is all he can say, because it's the truth. The facility can be random and somewhat unpredictable with their punishments. He doesn't know if they're even going to get punished for it.

Although, this facility seems to be a punish-one-punish-all kind of place.

"You've seen it before, though, right?" he asks hopefully. Maybe he's searching for some kind of hope that Derek's still here after five or six feral incidents. Honestly, that doesn't mean anything, the guards could open fire at them at any time and probably receive no repercussions over it.

"More than I'd care to count," he says bluntly. "Although, I can't imagine their patience with us is what it used to be." Sometimes Derek forgets just how new to the facility Isaac is. He's never experienced something like this before, and he's already timid enough as it is. Years of abuse can do that to a kid. He remembers being scared after the first incident, too.

"What usually happens after something like this?"

"Silence. We've never actually been addressed, the consequences usually just creep in eventually." Isaac considers him.

"Like what?"

"They've already amped up security," he says quietly, glancing at all the guards lined up against the wall of the yard. "They'll get stricter, they're already monitoring us in the mornings when we take our pill."

"Have you ever been punished?"

"For a feral? No," he says simply. "But like I said, their patience is probably wearing thin. I'm not gonna lie, Isaac, what happened last night? It could affect all of us." Isaac visibly tenses, staring forward. "I guess we'll have to wait and see."

Isaac nods stiffly but doesn't otherwise move. They sit in uncomfortable silence, watching the others work-out. He sees one of the twins, Aiden, watching him, but he ignores him entirely.

He's an alpha, and he's always tried to give Derek grief. He's probably trying to tune his weakened hearing to listen in on them. His brother sits beside him lifting weights, not paying attention to anything of interest. Ethan's never been a problem, just the other prick.

"Aren't you afraid?" Isaac asks, breaking the silence. He sounds angry, but not at Derek, just at the situation in hand. Derek stays silent for a long while, already knowing the answer.

"No," he says. The look Isaac gives him tells him he doesn't need to further explain himself, so he sighs and rests his elbows on his knees, head resting in his open palms.

The truth is, Derek isn't afraid. He's not scared of anything in here, or anyone in here for that matter. There's no fear of this place in him, just the undying hatred of everything about it, but no fear. The only thing he's afraid of is dying of old age in this place, having lived a life of wrongful imprisonment, but not death itself.

He's not afraid to die, not if it puts an end to the misery.

He's pulled from his own morbid thoughts when his eyes move to McCall, who's walking out of the main facility. He's still a little suspicious about this morning, and a little curious. Okay, a lot of both, actually. How the hell does anyone get something like that in this place?

"You didn't notice it this morning, did you?" he asks vaguely. Isaac perks up next to him, his brows furrowing in confusion.

"Hm?"

"McCall. We passed him in the cafeteria earlier, but you couldn't scent him, could you?"

"No," he says slowly. "Why?" They both look over at Scott, who's now leaning against the concrete wall that extends out from the facility. "What did he smell like?"

Derek glances around, making sure nobody is listening or is too close to overhear, especially Aiden. Thankfully, he's disappeared inside since the last time Derek's spied on him. There's no alpha's left out here either, Ethan's gone too, so he thinks the coast is clear.

"Sugar. He smelled like sugar." Isaac tenses, his gaze dropping to the floor before it quickly meets Derek's again.

"How does somebody even get sugar in here? Maybe he knows a guard who's smuggling something in for him."

"You're his roommate, have you not seen anything you shouldn't have?" Derek looks back at him now, but Isaac is staring forward still.

"No," is all he says, his voice taking this weird tone.

"You know something, don't you?" he asks suspiciously.

"Maybe," he says quietly.

"God dammit, Isaac," he hisses quietly, and Isaac startles from the change of tone. Derek would feel guilty if he wasn't so angry right now. "What have you been up to?"

"Nothing," he says, raising his palms in the air. Derek wraps his fingers around one of his arms to make sure he doesn't bolt, but it's not tight enough to hold him if Isaac doesn't want to be held.

"Clearly, you're up to something."

"No – I mean, yes." At Derek's growing scowl he deflates. "I mean, not me, but he is."

"Like what?"

"Like, sneaking in comics and snacks and stuff." Derek goes wide-eyed, a frown pulling his lips down in shock and horror. "But it's okay it's got nothing to do with me. I'm not involved," he tries.

"_Isaac_," he hisses again. "You _are_ involved. You know about it, you're an accessory. You're his roommate, what are you going to do if he gets caught?"

"I-"

"You're going to get dragged down with him. There'll be no evidence to say that you _weren't_ involved." Isaac looks like he's on the verge of tears.

"He said he'd tell them. He said he'd tell them that I had no part in it."

"Isaac, word of mouth doesn't mean shit to these people, don't you understand that?" A fresh wave of fear washes over Isaac's face, and he'd feel bad for it, but this is the reality of this place. Second chances don't come easy.

"I just-"

"I'm gonna kill him," he snarls determinedly, standing to his feet. He looks for Scott, and just when he thought the kid couldn't get any stranger, he moves to the other side of the wall that extends out from the facility, where the fence starts on the other side. He takes a suspicious glances over his shoulder to make nobody is watching him before he disappears completely.

"Did you just see that?" Derek asks, turning to Isaac who's standing behind him looking as confused as Derek feels. He nods, but when he opens his mouth to talk, Derek hears a different voice.

"All patients are immediately required for an emergency assembly in the cafeteria," a voice says over the intercom. "All patients are immediately required for an assembly in the cafeteria."

Isaac's face goes immediately pale. So the rumours were true after all. It just makes him wonder what other rumours floating around turn out to be true too. He rests a hand on Isaac's shoulder in a comforting move.

"It's gonna be okay," he says. "This doesn't mean anything."

They begin moving towards the doors with the other wolves who were out in the yard. As he guides Isaac in with arm around his shoulder he glances over his shoulder, Scott nowhere in sight.

"It'll be fine," he says, or hopes so at least.

::: :::

As it turns out, the plan for later on changes, and Stiles and Lydia end up at the library doing homework together. That's perfect for Stiles, because at least now he won't have to deal with his father when he returns from school.

They go straight there, and Stiles decides that he'll just leave the jeep here for a couple of hours while he's off visiting Scott. Lydia can drop him back here afterwards.

They end up doing their calculus together like they're not about to break the law in a couple of hours and risk arrest just to see their friend. The risks have never stopped them before, and if Stiles is honest he's gotten a little too comfortable about it.

There's no fear about him anymore, risking his life has become something of a routine over the years. They end up bickering over a particular sum, which turns into a debate that almost gets them kicked out.

Lydia's right though, as always.

He gets a text from Allison wishing him luck, even though she already said it when they parted after school this afternoon. He replies with a simple thanks with a smiling emojie. Lydia's too busy kicking his ass in the race to solve the next equation to notice he stopped.

He sighs and only copies her a little to try and catch up. She wins. He loses. She's smug. He sighs. In Stiles' defence he _does_ win the next one, and only rubs it in her face a little bit. She scowls and goes and gets some coffee, coming back with a deliberately overly sugary coffee for him.

He takes that as a win.

They leave at quarter to five, homework still unfinished but they agree to just do it at home later. They stop in the convenience store next door before they leave and Stiles buys a four pack of donuts and some Coke.

Lydia shakes her head at him, but Stiles shrugs as he stuffs his purchases into his backpack. They both know they're not for him, but they both play along anyway. They're out of the town in minutes, sticking to the outskirts.

"Thanks for doing this, Lyds," he says, glancing over at her as she turns the car down an old road.

"It's the least I could do," she says, eyes trained on the road. "It's no problem." Stiles nods, doesn't know what else to say, and turns back to the passing cluster of trees. He feels like he should thank her every time she does this for him. It's the least he could do, too. She doesn't owe him anything.

The facility is deep in the forest, but there's only so far one can go, and only so long one can stay. He almost jumps when his phone pings in his pocket, and makes a mental note to turn it on silent.

**From: Danny**

**Good to go.**

Danny's a friend of his, an older friend, who runs the security system at the facility. They met through Allison, and he's been doing them a few favours over the years. He turns the camera off where Scott and Stiles meet, or loops footage or- whatever, he's a tech genius. He doesn't reply, turns his phone on vibrate and pushes it back into his pocket. Lydia doesn't ask, she knows the drill by now.

She's been driving him here at least three times a week for the last three or four years. He'd drive himself, but an empty car parked near an out of bounds facility would look mighty suspicious. She'll drop him off and then pick him up in a couple of hours.

He sighs to himself, wishing for just one time that he could see his friend without a life-threatening fence stuck between the two of them.

The car pulls to a stop in the usual spot, nothing significant about the area but an out of shape tree on the left. Stiles smiles weakly at her as he pulls up his back pack from the floor and moves to get out.

"Tell him I was asking for him," she says, like Stiles was going to visit Scott at college and not a werewolf prison. He nods anyway, closing the door and waving her off before setting off into the trees.

He takes the usual route, and it's about a ten or fifteen minute walk to the spot. It's the only way he knows how to get there without getting caught by any hunters.

He climbs over large boulders and shimmies down a hill, using rocks sticking out of a stream to get across. It would be a beautiful view of nature if it wasn't for the vague outline of a concrete building beyond the trees.

About half way there his resolve wanes and he takes one of the donuts from the pack. Whatever, he's weak, okay?

He pants his way up the final steep slope, the facility just beyond the group of bushes at the top. He's careful not to tear a thread out of his hoodie as he passes through, pulling the thorns out of the material before pushing on. When he pushes the last branch out of his way, he's met with the familiar sight of a barbed wire fence, Scott sitting cross-legged on the other side.

He sits out of view from the rest of the facility. A large concrete wall extends from the main building, and the fence begins about four feet from the end of the wall. It extends out perpendicular to the wall for another couple of feet before continuing parallel to the wall. Scott sits in the gap between the beginning of the fence and the end of the wall, out of sight from the rest of the facility.

Stiles' heart breaks a little just looking at him, his head dipped as he stares at the grass beneath him.

Scott beams brightly at him when he lifts his head, something Stiles openly returns as he joins him cross-legged on the ground. Scott scoots closer, eyes immediately lowering to Stiles' back pack sitting in his lap.

"You bring me something?"

"Well, hello to you too, buddy," he says dryly, and Scott makes an apologetic face that doesn't totally convince Stiles. He reaches in, pulling out the four pack- well, three pack of donuts. Scott's eyes widen comically, and Stiles wouldn't be surprised if he actually started drooling.

"Here," Stiles chuckles, carefully pushing one of the donuts through the large openings in the electric fence. Scott takes it, and Stiles slowly pulls his hands back through. Scott has it devoured in the time it takes for Stiles to pick up the nest one. "Jesus, do they feed you at all in there?"

Scott shrugs as he swallows the remainder of the donuts, wincing at an extra-large bite as it travels down.

Stiles almost scolds him when Scott decides to push his arms through the opening in the fence, making grabby hands at the donut. Stiles puts the donut in one of his hands and carefully guides them back out again.

"How about you don't do that," Stiles says calmly. "For my sanity, if nothing else."

Scott is too busy wolfing (heh) down the donut to offer and apology, but Stiles takes the slow nod instead. One donut later and Scott is gulping down the can of Coke. He practically almost went through the fence when he saw it.

"You're the best, Dude," he says around a belch. Stiles laughs.

"Sometimes I think you only want me for my food." Scott tilts his head sideways.

"Of course not," he says seriously. "I also want you for your comics," he says, and it's in such a serious tone that Stiles can't help but laugh. Scott looks vaguely proud.

"Yeah, which I kinda forgot to bring," he says sobering, rubbing the back of his head. Scott shrugs like it's no big deal.

"It's okay, I forgot to bring the last one back with me."

"Oh, Dude," he says, a smile growing. "I went to see that new X-Men movie." Scott's face immediately brightens. "It was _awesome_," he says in a high-pitched tone.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I'm totally gonna bring it to you when the DVD comes out. It's been a while since I brought my portable DVD player." Scott nods, something about his face off.

"Who'd you go with?"

"Um, Allison. And Lydia came, too, only because Jackson dragged her there with us. I still don't know why Jackson came with us at all." Scott smiles. "She's good," he says, answering the unasked question. Scott nods again, a sad smile on his face. "She was asking for you. Lydia, too."

"Oh," he says, looking a little happier now. "Tell them I was, too. And tell Jackson he's an ass for me?"

"Always do," he laughs, and Scott joins him. They sit there for another while, until Danny texts him that it's time for him to go.

"Tomorrow?" Scott asks, and Stiles unconsciously looks down at his phone.

"Yeah, I think Danny's still on shift. I'll see you, Buddy." They both partake in a lame handshake they can't seem to move away from since they were kids. It's harder to do through the fence, but it's a risk Stiles is willing to take for the smile on Scott's face every time they do it.

Scott peaks around a corner before he leaves and heads back. Stiles immediately leaves before the camera looking at him turns back on. When he gets back on the road Lydia is just pulling to a stop.

"How was he?" she asks, not wasting any time in pulling a u-turn and driving back the way she came.

"Good," he says, smiling. "Really good."

::: :::

The walk to the cafeteria is quite to say the least, nothing but the faintest sound of rapid heartbeats. It's full of unasked questions that no one really has the answers to. Well, apparently some do, but it could be pure coincidence that one of the rumours turned out to not be a rumour at all.

It's a little unsettling, if he's honest.

Isaac never strays too far from his side as they walk through the corridors. They walk in a large group, nobody singling themselves off from the others. Derek knows that if his senses were at their best, the air would be thick with anxiety right now.

There's a hint of it in the air, almost entirely distant, but it's there.

He doesn't have to use his senses to know that Isaac is practically radiating anxiety. His fingers twitch at his side, and Derek can hear his laboured breathing. Every now and then he'll glance over at Derek and quickly turn away again. He wipes at his forehead a couple of times.

Isaac's relatively new to all of this, never been in this situation before. Hell, even Derek hasn't. There's no never been an emergency assembly before, there's rarely even an assembly at all. He has no idea what it means, but it's sure as shit not anything good.

He places a comforting hand on Isaac's shoulders that doesn't seem to comfort him in the slightest. Isaac startles under the touch at first, but eventually sinks into Derek's hand as it rub soothing circles into his upper arm.

Derek nods at him, a silent way of reassuring him that everything'll be fine. Isaac nods back, but doesn't seem to agree with him entirely. Derek is more scared for Isaac than he is for himself.

When they get to the cafeteria, most of the wolves are already there, seated at the tables. It's getting cramped in here, like there are too many wolves coming in than they can cater for. He spots Erica and Boyd and tugs on Isaac's arm for him to follow him over to them. They sit at their usual seats, an unsettling tension to the air.

There's low mumbling around them, some of the wolves look more worried than others, some look on the verge of tears, and others look totally zen. Satomi especially doesn't seem too fazed by what's happening.

When he takes a look at Erica, her face is careful, but there's a hint of fear breaking the surface. She offers him a reassuring smile that doesn't come out that way at all, and something in her eyes tells him that she's more worried than she's letting on. Her eyes immediately flick across the room when the sound of a door opening quietens the speculative wolves.

Everyone's attention turns to the front of the room, where a large steel door begins to open. There is a cluster of guards all standing along a line of mountain ash that surrounds the entrance. He takes that as a bad sign, especially since in his four years at this place, he's never once seen that door open.

The door screeches open and the sharpness causes Isaac to startle, and Derek places a soothing hand on his shoulder. His eyes meet Erica's briefly before the doors part, revealing an old, white-haired man.

Gerard Argent.

The sight of him makes Derek sick, it makes him want to shift, and the instinct is there, to shift and rip his throat out with his teeth. He feels his breathing become heavy, each breath loud and deep with rage. He's feeling so many emotions right now that he doesn't know which one to focus on.

Fear, anger, sadness, anxiety, rage. The memories come flooding back, the memories of everything he's done over the last few years, everything he's responsible for, all the death and destruction, and he's never been this angry in his life. Never been this – this out of control.

Isaac jerks his arm back where Derek is gripping it fiercely. Derek would apologize, only he's too busy baring his blunt teeth at Gerard where he's walking to the edge of the mountain ash barrier. He glances around at everyone, some people are standing, and some look like they're ready to pounce any second.

"Good afternoon, everyone," he greets them, looking around at their faces, scowls and bared human teeth reflecting his wry smirk.

This is the first time Gerard has ever addressed them, has never even showed his face in this place. He's sure they all know who he is regardless, given their reactions.

He sighs a put-upon breath at the lack of response. "I know we haven't had the warmest of introductions," he starts, and Derek's pretty sure he hears a quiet snarl. "But there's no need to be rude." He bounces on his heels as he moves his arms from behind his back and clasps them together.

"Better get down to business, so." Silence. "As I'm sure you are all aware," he begins, his voice slimy and emotionless, "we had a slight run-in with a patient last night. Unfortunately, for Mister Greenberg, he hadn't been taking his medication. And as we all know, when you break the rules, you get punished. So with everyone's safety in mind, action had to be taken."

Derek's pretty sure if they could, every wolf in the rom would be growling viciously at him.

"By no means did we intend to let the control of the situation slip through our fingers, and we felt it would be in everyone's best interest to put him down. I'm afraid we were left with no choice."

_Put him down_. Like Greenberg was some kind of animal. His knuckles whiten as he grips the end of the table.

"Yes, I know," he continues. "Greenberg is a great loss to the facility, and I'm sure he will be greatly missed. But," he raises a finger pointedly, "he did not die without cause. His death brings with it a message.

This facility will not tolerate such behaviour as demonstrated by Greenberg. Punishment will be served and action, by any means, will be taken. There are rules to this facility, and they are rules that you _will_ abide by. All of you. Do I make myself clear?" All he gets is silence in return.

"There will be no more second chances, there will be no more unbroken rules left unpunished, there will be no mercy. Unless a fate to match Greenberg is desired, I strongly recommend following the rules as they stand. Understood?"

He pauses as if waiting for a response, continuing when he receives nothing other than fierce glares all aimed directly at him.

"I'll take your silence as a yes." Derek hears something resembling a growl behind him, and Gerard thankfully doesn't hear it or chooses to ignore it, because he's now pacing along the line of mountain ash.

"Continuing with our topic of punishment, there will be another announcement. It has come to our attention that many others have adopted Greenberg's outlook, so we have been left with no choice but to perform a complete room search with immediate effect."

Loud mumbling erupts amongst the wolves, Gerard watching with a smirk as they process the information given. He waits for it to die down before speaking again.

"I sincerely hope our source is wrong. For all of your sake." With that he spins on his heel and retreats through the closing doors. The wolves sit in reflective silence, before the door closes and they erupt in chat again. Derek sighs as the doors close on his retreating form.

Derek startles as someone puts their hand on his, and when he finally looks away from the now closed doors, Erica is smiling softly at him.

"You okay?" He glances back to the door momentarily before nodding. Seeing Gerard again like that, it does things to him, unsettles him as the memories of that day flash in his mind. All he wants to do now is curl up in his bed and he can't even do that.

"Yeah," he says, swallowing. "Yeah." She smiles comfortingly, releasing his hand. He watches the wolves around him begin to stand and leave in the direction of their cells. His stomach twists with worry when his eyes finally land on Isaac's panicked face.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he grips Isaac's shoulder. Isaac looks up at him with cloudy eyes, face pinched with worry.

"Scott," is all he says, and suddenly it clicks.

**To be updated every month or so, all going well. If you wanna check me out on tumblr, I'm 't-g-i-sterek'. Leave a review and let me know what you think!**


	2. Good Ol' Days

**Note: Yay for interaction!**

"Hey, Derek," Nate grins without mirth. Derek saw him approach from afar, as he stood outside his cell waiting for one of the hunters to come and rummage through the only space he has left to himself. It's the fact that he saw Nate approach that he didn't just jump on him right there and rip his face off, had time to prepare himself for the face that helped Kate burn his family to the ground, use his sister as an in, the face that fooled them.

Derek doesn't answer, instead averts his gaze. "Been a long time, huh?"

"Four years," Derek answers quickly, looking back at him, unable to help himself. He silently scalds himself when Nate's face breaks into a smug grin, finding joy in Derek taking the bait.

"Feels like ten," he says earnestly, patting Derek's arm as he passes on his way to Derek's cell. Derek doesn't even comment on how true that statement actually is. He's spent a long time in here, and counting the days is one of the only things that have kept him sane over the years.

He glances around him, the other wolves watching as hunters turn their cells upside down, invade every last ounce of privacy they have. No one's found anything yet. _Yet_. McCall hasn't shown up yet either, still missing since he rounded that corner to the fence.

That must be where he gets it, the prohibited food that he must be sneaking into the facility. _How often does he do it? How does he do it? Does he know an escape route?_ Derek can't imagine anyone who can get in and out of this place on a daily basis would ever want to come _in_ again.

He must know someone, a connection to the outside, which means that there's someone stupid enough to put themselves and McCall in danger just for a donut or a candy bar or whatever the fuck McCall's been up to behind closed doors.

He wonders if it's a werewolf that's doing it, because God knows nobody out there would dare to approach a facility full of _Therianthropes_. He wonders if there's even a wolf that would be so stupid as to even _think_ about walking within a fifty mile radius of a place like this.

He doesn't dwell on what this means for Isaac, either, who he left standing outside his cell on his own. He didn't want to, but it was protocol that every wolf had to stand outside their own cell. McCall better be there to take the fall all on his fucking own.

He's snapped out of his thoughts by the sound and sight of Nate flipping over his mattress. Derek huffs in annoyance, folds his arms over his chest and leans against the doorframe. He has no finesse, Derek can't help but notice. His movements are frantic, and rushed. _Eager_, if anything. Eager to have an excuse to put down the last Hale going.

He looks everywhere, under the bed, even pulls the whole frame away from the wall, pulls away the bed sheets, opens the blanket cover, pillow cases and even checks the mattress for any openings. He checks everywhere, scans every inch of the place, nothing left unturned or unchecked. Everything has to be sure.

Derek tries not to cringe, tries not to wince as Nate touches all of his belongings, runs his hands over every crevice, fingers pulling and tugging and lifting _everything_, leaving his scent everywhere, leaving that horrible, sour taste in the air that's never really left Derek, despite it being nowhere near him for the last four years.

It's going to take him days to get rid of it. There's a tint of wolf's bane there, too, some gunpowder. He's guessing they've found another wolf in the last few days, a current of electricity to be felt in the air.

He can't stop the snarl that erupts out of his throat as Nate opens the box underneath his bed. Nate stills with his hand halfway out of the box, Peter's letter gripped tightly in his fingers, roughly and without care. Nate doesn't even flinch, doesn't make an attempt to grab a weapon as Derek moves away from the doorframe to stand tall.

He _laughs_. He laughs like he genuinely finds it funny.

"You're pathetic," is all he says, and Derek deflates, although his chest rises and falls rapidly with every sharp intake of breath as Nate's eyes flick over the letter, reading it line by line. There's a cruel smirk curling his lips when he finally drags his eyes away, gently putting the page away and closing the box, humouring him as he tenderly puts the box back.

"I remember that day," he says with a fond look, like he's reminiscing about a joyous experience. "The good ol' days, huh?" Derek just stares at him, trying not to pay attention to the words he hears as he speaks, tries to associate no meaning to them. "Kate says hi." Derek flinches at the name, stares wide-eyed at Nate as he begins walking toward him.

"Kate's dead," he says automatically, coldly, bile coming up his throat just saying the name.

"She misses you," he continues, slowly stepping towards him, head tilted with a sly grin, ignoring him. "You remember, don't you? How she tastes, how she felt, still feel the way her nails scraped up your back, the soft whisper of her voice whispering sweet nothings in your ear."

Derek tenses, curls in on himself. "Stop," he manages. Nate laughs again, effortless, but it sounds false, angry.

"Ah, memories," he says, voice high as he rubs a hand under his eye, stopping in front of Derek and lowering his arm to grip the door frame. Derek steps back minutely when his arm brushes against Derek's stomach, hating the touch.

Derek raises his head, looks at Nate square in the eye and says, "Kate's dead, I saw with my own eyes. Peter killed her, ripped her throat out with his claws. I even got some of the spray of blood on my clothes." Nate's smirk fades into a curled up snarl. "Felt good seeing her fall face-first into the dirt."

Nate pauses for a moment, the smirk returning as he leans close, their faces just inches apart and enough to make Derek immensely uncomfortable. "You sure about that?" he whispers. "A werewolf's claws can be funny things, can't they?"

Derek stares at him, wide-eyed, taking a full step away until he's practically standing out in the hallway. Nate takes his limp hand and shakes it, like they're old buddies. "It was great seeing you, man, we should catch up for real sometime."

He pats Derek's back and then he's gone, and then all Derek can hear are the words that have followed him every day since the fire. _Nothing personal_. It was the moment he heard those words that he realised. Realised that the only reason there's nothing personal is because they don't view wolves as people at all. Just faceless monsters.

He barely has time to register any of the past conversation before Boyd approaches him.

"Hey," Boyd stops beside him, taking in Derek's appearance before glancing over his shoulder at Nate's retreating form, not looking back. "You okay?" Derek blinks, looks up at his face and nods. "We should go find the others," he says, before walking away.

_Others_. Others as in Isaac. Isaac who's on the verge of punishment or death and all because of McCall and some idiot sneaking food into their cell. He hopes that McCall's donut was worth Isaac's future.

He waits until Boyd is five or six steps ahead before following behind. Most of the cells seems to be done with, the open doors revealing wolves putting their cell back together again. Isaac is still standing outside his door, and Derek can still see the sheen of sweat on Isaac's forehead even from this distance.

He's trembling when they stop, not wanting to get too close for fear that they'll get into trouble. Instead they stand a little ways down the hall, not able to meet Isaac's pleading eyes. A pillow lands on the threshold, the hunter obviously tossing it over his shoulder without a care. Isaac flinches, begins curling in on himself and suddenly there's silence in contrast to the rustling coming from the room just a second ago.

The hunter's steps are loud as he makes his way out the door, his boots meeting the floor heavily with each step. Isaac stills, the hunter looking at him with a blank face, before his hidden hand rises and throws a whole collection of items onto the floor.

A comic book, candy wrappers, little pieces of food still unopened. An _iPod_. That bastard.

The hunter sighs, seemingly collecting himself before he swings his arm, his hand colliding with Isaac's face and knocking him against the wall and then to the ground. Derek steps forward, Boyd's outstretched arm the only thing stopping him from trying to intervene. He almost pushes passed it, almost pushes Boyd to the side in an effort to fight for his beta.

The commotion seems to attract some of the other wolves as a crows starts to form around Isaac's cell, nobody stepping too close. Derek watches as shock dawns across many of their faces, some disbelieving and some accepting with a disapproving nod. _Idiot_, they're probably thinking. The crowd itself seems to be drawing unwanted attention, and with each agonizing second it seems to grow larger.

Isaac makes a noise from the floor, and the hunter looks around at all of the wolves watching him in silence. Derek swallows and steps back, allowing Boyd to guide him behind his shoulder, his head dipping to stare at the ground in shame.

He can't help himself but look up when he hears footsteps, and McCall stops at the line of onlookers on the other side of Isaac, pushing passed shoulders and nudging people out of the way to get to the forefront. His stupid smile fades off his face at the sight before him, and Derek wonders if it's because of Isaac lying helpless on the floor, at mercy to a hunter, or if it's because he's been caught.

He wonders if it's both, but doesn't care regardless.

All he cares about is clearing Isaac's name, and he waits. He waits for McCall to step forward, admit to it and save Isaac's life, but he just stands there, staring wide-eyed with his jaw hanging open, not reacting fast enough to the hunter's fist slamming right into his crooked jaw and sending him stumbling back.

In an instant, someone is shoving into his and Boyd's sides, a group of more hunters, who stop when they take in the scene, the books and food and the two werewolves at centre stage. One of them is quick to fist his hand in Isaac's collar and reef him to his feet, who makes a dazed sound and almost falls over again and then pulled roughly into balance.

"Hey, w-" is all he can get out before Boyd's hand covers his mouth, and he lets him do it, doesn't fight it as he watches a hunter roughly shove them forward. The crowd splits, hurriedly stepping out of their way. Boyd's hand comes away from his gaping mouth, no words allowing themselves to come out.

As Isaac is marched forward, he glances over his shoulder, meeting Derek with glassy eyes, wet with unshed, fearful tears, and it takes everything Derek has not to make a move to grab him. He's shoved around a corner and only then does Derek breathe, not even aware that he had stopped.

"Move it!" the remaining hunter yells, and everyone flinches into action, Boyd and Derek just standing there and staring at the spot where Isaac had been lying, wondering if that was the last time they'd see Isaac again.

::: :::

"Alright, bye Lyds!" he closes the door to her blue Toyota, waving her off as she leaves. He's half way down the thankfully cruiser-less driveway when he finally notices Allison sitting on his porch step, clutching her phone in her hands that are wrapped around her bare knees.

It's gotten dark since he left Scott, and the early spring air is still cold enough that you can see your breath with every exhale. Even _he's_ cold, and he's wearing layers.

"Jesus, you must be freezing," he picks up his pace towards her, and she offers a polite smile as she stands and opens her arms in greeting.

"I'm fine," she says over his shoulder as he embraces her into a warm hug. Allison gives good hugs. So did Scott. They must have had the best hugs back in the day. When he releases her she's still smiling, although it's still not meeting her eyes. It looks sad, almost.

"You want to come inside?" he asks, sensing something's up. She nods as he opens the front door, thankfully his dad's not home. They trail through the dark hallway to the kitchen, and he only almost trips once.

When he flicks the lights on he sees his dinner on a plate in the microwave, but no note from his dad to say so. They can't even communicate in notes, that's how bad it's getting.

"You want coffee?" he changes the subject in his own head. She takes a seat at the table, taking up his offer. He can feel the tension in the room rising as he makes two mugs, silent in conversation the entire time.

He can feel her watching him, and it's a little unnerving.

"What's up?" he asks, taking the seat at the head of the table next to her. She takes the mug gingerly in her sleeved hands and blows, but remains otherwise silent. "Allison."

"I want to come with you," she says so quickly that Stiles can barely keep up with her words. Stiles watches her watch him for a moment, taking in what she just said. "To see Scott."

"You want to come with me." It's not a question, he heard her loud and almost clear, he's just having a little trouble with the concept.

"Yeah."

"Okay," he says evenly, drawing out the word. "Are you sure that's such a good idea?" Allison considers him for a brief moment.

"Don't try and talk me out of this," she says, and Stiles is taken aback to say the least. "I need to do this," she says with determination.

"You don't have to do _any_thing."

"Okay. I want to do this."

"But have you thought this through? What this means for you and your family?" Stiles is all for Allison to come with him, like, he can only imagine Scott's dopey lovelorn face when he sees her, but seriously, someone needs to be thinking rationally right now.

"Yes, I've thought this through," she says with a roll of her eyes. She's been spending _way_ too much time with Lydia.

"But have you, though?" Allison gives him a _look_, a look that makes him want to curl in on himself. He's getting some serious Lydia vibes from her tonight, she's clearly a girl on a mission, and whether or not Stiles agrees to it she's going to go anyway.

Stiles sighs defeated already like the wuss that he is. "Have you at _least_ spared a thought for what would happen if you got caught?"

"You haven't been caught yet," she says simply, drinking from her mug.

"I've just been lucky."

"For four years straight?" she asks with raised eyebrows that say _don't fuck with me, bitch_. When she says it like that, he's wondering how none of this came sooner.

"Maybe I'm just so super-fast and agile that they haven't been able to catch me yet," he says, puffing out his chest in a heroic manner. Allison continues giving him a flat look. "Lacrosse," he says, with deeper tone of voice than what comes natural to him.

"Gymnastics and archery," she points to herself looking victorious. Stiles opens his mouth to argue before he realises that he doesn't even have an argument in the first place. He clamps his mouth shut, instead going to the microwave and heating up his lasagne.

When he sits down he's thankful for the noise filling the silence between them.

"How was he?" she asks, downing her cup and moving to abandon it in the sink. When she comes back she's holding the lasagne and two forks, placing it in the middle of the table and tucking into her half like it was for her. He doesn't fight her on it, he's not really hungry anyways.

"The usual," he says, which pretty much means that he looked tired and sad, was bored, but was happy to see him and wanted Allison to visit him instead. Stiles has grown to accept that he's not Scott's number one choice after all those years.

He picks at the lasagne, not actually picking anything up on his fork, just playing with it. Allison watches him, can feel her gaze burning him. Stiles looks up to meet her gaze and she immediately looks away, eyes darting back to the lasagne, and Stiles doesn't miss the sight of her mimicking his movements with her own fork.

"Is there something else you want to tell me?" Allison slowly looks back up again, resting her fork leaning against the plate. She flicks her hair away from her eyes, but doesn't break eye contact. Stiles can already tell this is bad.

"Something's up with Gerard." Stiles refrains from gagging at the thought of the man, even after all these years the name doesn't sit well with him. After what he done, he can barely stomach the name Argent at all, as unfair as that may be to Allison.

He doesn't know how she can handle having him in her house, touching her stuff and eating next to each other. How she can plaster on a false smile and pretend that everything's okay, and humour him about how her training is going when it's not going at _all_. He sighs.

"When is there not something going on with your grandfather?" he asks, because it's easier to refer to him like that, even if he knows that he just cut something inside Allison and twisted the knife. It's still better than forming the word. She was either unaffected by his choice of words or managed to mask her emotions before they reached the surface.

He's going to go with the latter, because that's just who Allison is, who she feels she has to be. Stiles wishes she wouldn't be so hard on herself.

"This was different," she continues with the subject. "He was different, _nervous _even." Stiles doesn't say anything, just waits on her to elaborate. "Gerard's hard to read, always saying one thing and meaning another, always choosing what emotions to feel. But today, he was- he was _nervous_."

"About what?" Stiles chokes, coughs to clear his throat.

"I don't know, but he was there one minute and the next he was rushing out the door with a bunch of hunters for the facility." Stiles nods, processing the information. It feels like minutes before he speaks.

"You think something went wrong at the facility. Something _very_ wrong, judging by his reaction." Allison nods, not denying. "Allison, why do you want to come see Scott?" Allison opens her mouth, but he interrupts her before she can speak. "Honestly."

And then her mask slips, her calm self dissipating behind creases and lines of worry. She still doesn't say anything, and Stiles is sure it's because if she does, she might lose herself completely. That's not what hunters do, what they're trained to fight, and sometimes it's not easy to adopt another lifestyle. Sometimes the hardest thing to do is to show emotion.

"You want to make sure he's okay." She nods slowly, silently. Her glassy eyes meeting Stiles'. Stiles nods back, pursing his lips. "Okay," he says quietly, rising from the table and discarding the lasagne on the counter. His dad will eat it when he comes home. "Danny's on shift tomorrow at six, so me and Lydia'll come and pick you up at five thirty."

He looks over his shoulder to where she's still sitting at the table nodding along with what he says. He turns back and flips the switch on the socket to turn off the microwave. "So I'm gonna go and take a shower but you can hang arou-" When he turns back she's gone, her chair pushed back under the table like she was never there.

He pauses for a moment, before turning off the lights and heading upstairs.

::: :::

Derek stares up at the ceiling, not moving, barely even breathing. Nate's scent still fills his lungs with every intake of air, and it burns almost as much as the scent of wolf's bane. At least, to him it does. He blinks, flashes of yesterday afternoon haunting him every time he closed his eyes. He didn't sleep, couldn't close his eyes without seeing Isaac's face as he was dragged around that corner.

His heart stutters from the thought, and his stomach twists. He'd puke, but he doesn't have the energy to. He doesn't know if that makes sense, but that's how he feels. He hasn't moved a muscle all night, just stared into the darkness and tried not to feel the ghost of Boyd's arm holding him back.

He should have done something. He should have stepped up like a good alpha would have and done something. Anything. And every time he thinks it he hears Boyd's words in his ear, they'd barely registered at the time. They were back in Derek's cell after it happened, and Derek didn't even remember going back.

He stood in the entrance as Boyd fixed the bed back in place and remade it, Derek standing in silence, helpless. Like he was helpless before. Before he knew it Boyd was sitting him down, and it almost felt like he wasn't an alpha anymore. He still was, of course, he could feel he was, but he didn't feel like he deserved it.

Not when he stood back and watched as his beta was marched to his possible death. He still didn't know if McCall was an alpha or a beta. If he was an alpha that would mean Peter is dead, and it's a thought like that that makes him want to not know.

_He'll be okay, Derek_._ It wasn't your fault. There's nothing you could have done, and he hasn't done anything wrong. He'll be fine._

Now that he thinks back on it, it all sounds a bit too mechanical. Like Boyd needed to believe it as much as he needed Derek to. He almost snorted when he heard Boyd say it, as if Boyd was ignorant enough to believe it were true. That's how he knew he was right; there are no second chances anymore, Gerard has said.

Gerard tends to stick to his word.

The lock on the door shifts, and there's a creak of metal as the door swings open and allows the gleam of fluorescent lights into the room. He squints at the hunter and takes the offered pill, her eyes on him the entire time. He swallows, and it hurts as much as ever, despite how numb he feels.

He lays in bed for another few hours before he gets up.

His mind eventually drifts to Nate, and how he's probably working here in the facility now. It hits him like a wave, the words that he didn't have time to register yesterday. Kate's _alive_. That's impossible, she couldn't be. He saw what happened to her that day, how she went down like a ton of bricks, blood spurting from her body as she hit the ground.

Unless- no, she couldn't be. She has to be dead, the chances of turning from something like that are rare to say the least. It's one in a million. Then again, Kate _is_ one in a million. He sighs, scrubs his hands over his eyes before he realizes what he's been doing all morning. He's abandoned his betas again- Isaac could be back.

He scrambles off the bed, and he's close to jogging by the time he nears Isaac's room down the hall, some of the other wolves watching him pass, some whispering lowly in each other's ear. He can tell that the door to his cell is open, and hope blooms in his chest that they listened to him, saw he was innocent and let him back to his room in the middle of the night. He comes to a stop on the threshold of the door.

The cell is still a mess, in the same state that it was left in yesterday. He doesn't know if that's a good sign or a bad sign, he knows it means neither of them had come back yet, but the hunters haven't been ordered to clear the room for another pair of wolves, so he'll take it as a win while he still can.

A part of him is telling him to take it as it is, as nothing, that having hope is a ridiculous concept in a place like this, that he's fooling himself for even allowing himself to think there's a chance of Isaac's return. In the end he's setting himself up for a fall, and he knows it, but that doesn't mean he's not going to come by here every morning until he knows for sure that Isaac won't come back.

A sense of dread fills him, and he helplessly pushes away the thoughts of returning to this cell every day and finding it empty, the emptiness he'd feel. _Isaac hasn't done anything wrong, he'll be back soon_, he reminds himself, hopelessly optimistic. He instead focuses his mind on keeping himself busy, so he decides to pass the time by cleaning up this mess.

The first thing he does is push the frames of the beds back in their corners, sweeping some of the splinters across the floor with his feet where the bed must have been knocked against a wall. He makes the beds, both of them, and separates the piles of clothes strewn out across the floor. He collects the ones that match Isaac's size and folds them, leaving them neatly on the bed.

McCall's, he leaves flung across his bed, some of the sleeves hanging over the side and onto the floor. He almost wants to flip the bed over, break it in half. Derek quells the anger running through his veins, tries not to think about what he's going to do to McCall if he ever comes back here. He smiles despite himself, thinking about laying his fist into McCall's face. Maybe he could right that crooked jaw of his.

"I should have known you were a stress cleaner," a voice says, and Derek's face falls in time to turn to Erica, who's standing with her hip leaning against the door frame. There's a fond, but sad curl to her lips, her eyes tired.

"Must be why I keep my cell so tidy," he remarks, and her smile grows minutely, her eyes lowering to the floor. Any other day she would have been at the prospect of him playing along. He sighs, resting his chin on his hands as he sits on the bed, staring forward. It's a long moment of contemplative silence before she speaks again.

"We've been waiting for you to come out all morning," she says. "I went to your cell and you weren't there." He knows she doesn't mean anything by it, but Derek can't help but feel guilty over abandoning his betas in a time of need. It's seems to be a pattern of his.

"Was here." Erica huffs a quiet laugh, and he can almost feel her rolling her eyes. Neither of them seem to be putting too much effort or enthusiasm into their banter, but it comes easy for them, and that's the kind of relationship they've had for three years now.

She moves to the bed slowly, but not warily, just tired in her movements. He guesses he's not the only one who had trouble sleeping last night. "I figured," she drawls, curling in close to him, but not quite touching. Her knee nudges his, and he nudges hers back lamely.

"Where's Boyd?" he asks, because it's not often that he and Erica are separated without needing to be. It's even rarer that she'd spend her time away from him with Derek, they've never really spent much time alone together. Derek barely gets time alone at all, these days, not that he has much to complain about now, of course.

"He's in the yard, said he needed to do something worthwhile while he _waits_. Boyd's not really one for talking." He snorts, because _he's noticed_. It's one of the things he loves most about Boyd, mostly because he sees a bit of himself there. "I couldn't even _think_ about exercise, was up all hours of the night." She swallows, changes the subject away from her. "How are you holding up?"

Derek considers her words, and if he's honest he doesn't know how he feels, he hasn't had time to even think about himself. Erica doesn't push him on the matter, gives him time to gather his thoughts, which he's grateful for, even though he doesn't know where to begin.

"You know, when a pack member dies, it's like losing a limb. You lose a part of yourself along with them. I know what it's like to lose pack, I know better than anyone. It's like- It's like a void than can't be filled, that'll stay empty for the rest of your life. It's hard, it's… _hard_," he finishes weakly.

"I'm sorry," she says genuinely, gripping Derek's hand softly. Derek's never seen her like this, this unguarded, like her walls are down.

"Don't be," he shakes his head, not pulling out of her grip. "Isaac's not my pack, he's just- I don't even know if he's dead, and I don't know if it's the worst part. If it's that he's not my pack or that I'd know if he was dead if he was. It's different with you guys, it makes it even harder.

"I know what it's like to lose pack, I've lost all of mine," he continues, his voice cracking at the end, and the grip Erica has hold of him tightens, but he remains quite otherwise. "But I've never lost family or friends, I don't know what that's like. It's harder." He's only ever considered his close family as pack, he supposes family is an instinct that only really belongs to humans.

A long silence falls in the air between them, no sound other than whatever's happening outside the cell and their long, even breaths. She keeps her hands around his for another while longer, until she pulls away and twists on the bed, settling so that she can face him. Derek doesn't meet her, just stays sitting where he is, eyes on the ground.

"Human or wolf, you're allowed to grieve," she says softly. Derek hears her words echo in his head, _human or wolf_, and with them he is turning to meet her. The look in her eyes tells Derek that she's chosen her words carefully, that she said it exactly as she meant it.

"You think we're humans," he says, and it's not a question, but a statement. She shrugs casually, a rueful smile on her face when she speaks.

"As good as," she sighs, moving her hands to grip her knees. Derek feels a pulse of anger rise and then dissipate almost as soon as it appeared. _Wasn't that the point? That wolves were people, too, even without being human?_

"We're wolves, even if we don't feel like it anymore," he says evenly. "We're not humans." Erica shakes her head, her eyes lifting to the ceiling for a brief second that could have been interpreted as an eye roll.

"I don't know what it's like to be a wolf, I don't know any different," she says, exasperated. "I don't know the difference between being a wolf and being a human."

"What do you mean?" Derek asks, his brows furrowing. He doesn't even realize it when his hand fists into his trousers.

"I got bit in an accident, Derek. My friend and I were out in the woods one night and we were attacked. I had an epileptic fit, and when I woke up, I was in here, being fed pills." She blinks away tears, meeting Derek's wide eyes. "I've never experienced being a wolf. There's a whole part of me that I've never even had the chance to feel."

Derek opens his mouth to speak, only to realize that there are no words that he can say, he's speechless. He slowly closes his mouth, turning away and swallowing. "I'm sorry," is all he says, and he wonders if it sounded as weak to Erica than it did his own ears. Erica laughs wetly, but doesn't comment further.

Neither of them move for a long time, Erica moving to lean against the back wall at some stage. Derek stays hunched over, head resting back in his hands, staring into space. "What does a full moon feel like?" he hears Erica ask from behind him, so low even _he_ had trouble hearing it. He sighs, scooting back to rest next to her.

"When I was a kid my mom always said it was my wolf trying to fly to the moon." He smiles bitterly at the memory, not looking at Erica but instead the bed sheets. "It's like- It's like a rope connecting the wolf in you to the moon, and the moon is pulling it out, like it's a physical thing. If you know how to harness it, it can make you stronger, faster.

"If you don't, it's like a sudden rush of power that you're trying desperately to control but can't. Like there's too much of it to handle all at once and you just- lose control."

"Like Greenberg," she says thoughtfully. It's not entirely like Greenberg, but it's the same concept. Too much power spread across too little time.

"Kind of," he says. "But Greenberg didn't have a pack. When you're part of a pack it's easier to keep control. They anchor you, in a way. Keep you solid." Erica stays quiet, but seems interested all the same, as satisfied with that answer as she's ever going to be. She'll probably never experience it first hand, and that thought twists something inside Derek.

"I know you don't know it, I know you don't feel it like we would, but you have a pack." Erica looks up at him through her lashes, her awed expression breaking into a small smile. "You're my beta," he rubs her knee with his thumb. "I might not have bit you, but packs can stretch beyond the power of the bite."

Erica turns her head away, rubbing a hand over her eyes. "Ew," she mutters, sniffling. "Feelings." Derek laughs, looks away to let her compose herself.

It's not untrue, either, there were humans in Derek's family that were always considered to be on the same level as wolves, were never treated to be anything less than wolves. He feels a level of protection just thinking about them, and he feels protection over his own pack members, over Isaac. He realizes what time of day it must be, it must be time.

He takes one last look over at McCall's bed before standing, patting Erica's foot as he passes. "Where are you going?" Erica looks up at him, but doesn't make a move to follow him. He suspects she's going to hang around in Isaac's bed for a while.

"I have to go meet somebody," he says quietly over his shoulder. "I'll be back soon." He leaves her alone, heading down the hall towards the exercise yard.

By _somebody_, he means whoever's been feeding McCall through the fence.

::: :::

"We can turn back if you want," Stiles grunts, hopping down off a steep drop at the end of a hill. He lands on his feet, _barely_, before turning to grab Allison's hand to help her down. She smiles her thanks at him, and it's not that she needs help after he training. Doesn't mean Stiles can't be a gentleman.

"It's fine," she says airily, continuing on to walk ahead of him. She's not the one that knows the way but Stiles gets the feeling she's trying not to make eye contact with him, so he hangs back just over her shoulder. "We've come this far."

"Not far enough that you can't change your mind if you want to," Stiles tries, almost tripping over a root sticking out of the ground as he bores holes into the side of her head. If she noticed, well, she pretended not to.

"What if I don't want to?" she asks over her shoulder, finally meeting his eyes.

"What if you haven't thought this through all the way?" he retorts, and Allison dips her head away and continues walking. He wasn't sure bringing her here was the best idea, knows that it's a terrible idea. He spent all hours of the night wondering why she wanted to do this now, wondering if letting her come was the right choice to make. "What if you get caught?"

"_You_ haven't," she says, pausing at the edge of a small stream. Stiles steps ahead of her, using the rocks jutting out of the water as a pathway across. He manages to avoid using the rock covered in slippery moss, pointing at it and telling her to be careful.

"That wasn't the point," he hops off the last rock and waits for her to catch up, and they end up walking side by side.

"What is?" she squints up, and Stiles follows her gaze up to a flock of birds overhead, flying freely through the trees and dodging branches as they move. He sighs, tries not to turn it into too much of a metaphor and turns back to her.

"Your dad," he says bluntly, and suddenly her arm is sticking out in front of him and drawing them both to a stop. She rounds on him, immediately locking eyes with his, and Stiles feels the sudden urge to run away in fear.

"Don't try and talk me out of this," she says, shaking her head. "This is what I want." Her face is certain, giving nothing away.

"I just want to make sure you know what you're risking here," Stiles says earnestly, but it has her shaking her head again with a disbelieving smile as she starts walking again.

"What, that my dad will be killed if any of the hunters find an Argent out in the woods near the facility, that an Argent is meeting up with a wolf?" Stiles runs to catch up with her. There's no lie to her words, Gerard won't stand for it. He doesn't doubt for a second that Allison would receive the same punishment.

"They'll have his head, Allison," he pants.

"And they'll have yours, too," she comes to a stop. "What, you think that the sheriff's only son getting caught breaking Argent's law won't come to the same result?" she scoffs. In all this time Stiles has been doing this, he's never once thought about what this would mean for his own father if he was ever to be caught.

Sorrow and regret twist his insides, because he's been so busy being mad at his father for the last four years that he never thought about him when he didn't think it was necessary. He's never even realized the danger he's put his father through. The Stilinski name would never recover, but he's never thought about it beyond himself.

"I'm sorry," Stiles blinks, not meeting her eyes. "I- sorry," he sighs, feeling the sudden urge to apologize for dropping all of this on her shoulders, for making her feel worse for making a selfish action, an action he's been making all along.

"It's fine," she says, patting his shoulder. "Really, I'm glad to see someone still has my back." Stiles looks up at her then, and smiles softly at her, something that she returns as they start walking again at a slower pace. "What did you bring him?" she asks, breaking the silence between them.

"You," he says, and he doesn't look but he knows Allison is smiling that toothy grin. He smiles despite himself as they reach the bottom of the last hill, the facility just at the top through the bushes up there. He can see the roof of part of the facility over the tops of the trees, just barely visible as the wind pushes the branches away to reveal it before they snap back again.

"You really walk this every day?" Allison asks, panting slightly, as they climb up the hill. Stiles wonders if she's humouring him just to make him feel better, even if it should be the opposite way around. Stiles feels a burning in his lungs all the same, his throat a little dry from all the exercise.

"Not every day, but it helps with lacrosse." Allison snorts.

"Yeah, if you were on the team," she teases him as they come to the top, and when she turns to him she's not wearing the playful smirk he thought she would, but instead a very nervous face, her forehead creased with worry.

"You ready?" he asks. She nods her head, looking at the bushes in front of her, the only thing separating her from Scott. Well, there's the electric fence, too, but they're not going to get into semantics. Stiles comes to edge of the bushes, sighing out a long breath.

"You nervous?" she asks him, and when he looks over his shoulder at her she _is_ wearing that playful smirk.

"A little," he answers her honestly. She rolls her eyes, flicking her hair out of her face as she pushes him forward.

"Go," she laughs.

"Okay, I'm going, jeez," he finally begins walking, nudging branches out of his way as he walks, holding them back longer than necessary so they don't fling back and hit Allison square in the face. He's careful not to press too hard on them, the nettles already digging into the skin of his palms. He can hear Allison walking closely behind, her toes scraping against his heel at times.

She whispers her apologies, Stiles nodding along. He gets that she's probably in a rush, they've all been anticipating this moment for a while now. Stiles is honestly surprised it's taken this long, he half expected Scott to go all 'Shawshank Redemption' on this prison's ass just to go see her. God knows Scott would do it.

He glances over his shoulder when it goes quiet behind him, only now noticing that Allison stopped walking a few steps back. She juts her chin out, urging him onward, and he continues without a word. The gaps between the branches reveal the wall of the facility, and a little to the right he can barely make out Scott sitting by the fence in his usual spot.

He smiles, looks back over his shoulder where Allison still hasn't moved, her face hopeful, and edges forward, pushing the last branch away and stepping out into the open. He blinks in the bright sun, his eyes adjusting as Scott comes to a stand- only Scott looks very different today.

That's not Scott. Fuck.

Stiles stills with the realization. This man is taller, bulkier, his hair is shorter and black. His eyebrows are thick, and his sharp jaw is peppered with facial hair, the hairs short. The man comes to a stand, wary eyes closing in on him.

"Shit," is all Stiles says, frozen in place, telling his legs to move. The man comes closer to the fence, just a step, but it's enough to make Stiles finally step backwards to the edge of the bushes.

"You," the man calls, his voice soft but hoarse, nothing like he would have assumed it would sound like, and Stiles stills again.

"No, no 'me'," he laughs awkwardly, lifting his palms up in defence and then pointing in the direction he came. "I'm just- I'm gonna go now, you didn't see me, okay? Cool," he goes to take another step backwards, instead colliding with another body that nudges him forward again.

"Hey, what's-" Allison cuts herself off when her eyes land on Derek, and she seems to catch up pretty quickly because she's suddenly tugging on Stiles elbow and pulling them both back through the branches. "Oh, we're sorry," she says stiffly, "We're lost, and just looking for- um, yeah."

The guy's face goes panicked, and then, "You're McCall's friends, aren't you?" They both stop as soon as the words are out. Stiles' heart races in his chest, his mouth gaping and forming no words, any coherent sentence lost on his tongue.

"Yes," Allison answers, her voice unsure, and it's only when she speaks that Stiles realizes that he's just been standing there staring at the guy with his mouth hanging open. He straightens himself immediately, coughing away the lump in his throat. The guy hums, nodding, and then he's beckoning Stiles over, wagging his index finger in a _come here_ gesture.

Stiles looks over his shoulder at Allison, who's gently urging him forward with her hands on his back. He silently pleads with her, and yeah, he's totally scared of the big, scary guy and his whole psycho killer look he's got going. He is kind of hot, though, and familiar if his eyes aren't betraying him.

Stiles swallows as he stands before the other man, slightly less scared now that he knows he's only slightly shorter than him. His eyes are piercing, and Stiles can't help but wonder why he's here and not Scott. _Why was he asking if they were McCall's buddies?_ Something must have happened, Allison could have been right.

"Where's Scott? Did something happen?" he voice wavers, wide, pleading eyes staring into the other man's for confirmation. His eyes are sad, tired, frustrated even, and black rings circle them. They dip down before meeting Stiles' again, his green eyes piercing. There's something there, something manic, and it almost knocks the wind out of Stiles. "What did you do?" he asks lowly, and this time his voice doesn't waver.

He laughs, just a huff of air and a small curl to his lips. He throws his eyes to the sky in a _Lord, give me patience_ manner, settling down with an angry smirk. "More like what have _you_ done?" Stiles' brow furrows, but on some level he already knows what Derek's talking about.

"What happened?" he asks, searching the guy's fixed eyes for an answer, but he just shakes his head, steps even closer to the fence, a movement that has Stiles almost taking a step back.

"He's in trouble," he says, and Stiles' breath hitches on the last word, his heartbeat skyrocketing in his chest as he processes it. He hears Allison approach, and she stops behind him, a little ways away from the fence.

"What kind of trouble?" she asks, her tone emotionless. "Is he okay?" The guy doesn't take his eyes away from Stiles', not even when he responds to her, like he's still aiming his words at Stiles, who's breathing heavily.

"I don't know," is all he says, and Stiles' thoughts are too busy clouding with horrific thoughts of Scott dying, of Stiles being responsible.

"What are they doing to him? Where is he?" Allison tries again, her mask slipping as her words become more rushed, more frantic. All Stiles can think about is how scared Scott must feel, how today was his chance to see Allison and- and Stiles ruined it. If he's alive.

"I don't know," he repeats, drawing Stiles attention again.

"Well, what do you know?" Stiles yells, definitely louder than he should have, and the tears gathering in his eyes are threatening to spill when Derek opens his mouth to speak, but closes it again. His expression goes from angry to resolved, and before Stiles can register it, Derek is turning away. Allison steps closer, now in his view as she halts just on the edge of the wire.

"I know that if you're smart, you won't come back here. Maybe if you do you won't cause any more damage." With that he's gone, and all Stiles can do is stand there and watch him go as a tear rolls down his cheek.

::: :::

"Well what _do_ you know?" the kid yells, and Derek barely contains the wince at how loud and how desperate he sounds. The girl beside him doesn't look any more well off than he does. He almost bites back a response to tell him to keep his mouth shut, quickly closing his mouth when he takes a good look at the kid's face, tears welling up in his eyes, an angry furrow to his eyebrows and a hurt frown.

It's not the face of somebody who purposefully set out to do any harm.

The anger in Derek dissolves into something calmer, something like understanding, especially when Stiles' words sink in, because the truth is, Derek knows nothing, and that terrifies him more than the facility itself. He turns away resigned, pausing after the first step.

"I know that if you're smart, you won't come back here." Because if there's one thing Derek _does_ know, it's that this place isn't somewhere anyone should willingly approach. Not unless you've got a death wish. He rounds the wall without looking back, and once he does, he crumples back against it.

His chest is heaving, and he dips his head back against the concrete as he exhales long and slow, steadying his breathing. He stares up at the sky, closing his eyes as he calms down. When he opens his eyes again, there are guards still patrolling the walls and doors, and inmates in the yard carrying on as normal.

It was too still, to the point where Derek was almost wondering if what happened had happened at all. He knows it _did_ happen, he came face to face with humans that didn't seem to fit Derek's perception at all. Derek doesn't know how to describe them, innocent maybe. Nothing like the ignorance and small-mindedness he's come to associate with humans over the years.

Who even were they? Scott's friends obviously, which means that they're probably still in school, Scott was only a freshman when he came here which means that they're seniors, probably no more than seventeen or eighteen. What kind of teenager comes up with a system to get here, he's seen the security this place has. He knows there's patrols, too. They're obviously smart enough to not get caught.

He's still angry, though. The fact that they were treating this place like some holiday resort has gotten Isaac in trouble. But maybe it wasn't entirely their fault, and maybe he shouldn't be taking his anger out on them when it's obvious that it should be directed at Scott. Now that he thinks about it, he never actually told them what happened, and he supposes they deserve that much. To know.

But the guard lining the wall is eyeing him dubiously from across the way so he stands straight and moves away, not wanting to draw attention to himself or the spot. He'll come back tomorrow, he's sure they'll keep coming back anyway. His threats don't hold much power anymore now that there's an electric fence holding him back.

He looks around for Boyd, hasn't seen him all day, but he seems to have disappeared since the last time he saw him while walking to the fence earlier. He assumes he's with Erica, because when are they ever separated? They're probably in one of the cells, and if Boyd had to go find Erica then they're probably in Isaac's

He doesn't particularly want to go back there, but he begins walking in that direction anyway. He can't help but look back as people stare after him in the yard, and in the halls and in the canteen, and this time they don't even have the decency to quickly look away when their eyes meet. There are even more eyes on him now than there were when he left, but he pushes onward without sparing a second glance.

When he rounds the corner to the hallway of Isaac's room, he's not surprised to see Boyd there, but is surprised to find Boyd only standing in the doorway. He approaches, and Boyd must catch him in the corner of his eye because he stands aside, turning to him with a small smile on his face that Derek has always found creepy.

Derek quirks a curious eyebrow at him and Boyd just happily gestures for him to look in the room, and he follows the movement to see Erica still sitting on Isaac's bed, although she's perched on the edge next to another person. Isaac.

In the rush of seeing him, he darts through the door, pausing when the motion attracts their attention. He freezes mid-step when Isaac's eyes land on him, and Isaac quickly stands so they're both facing each other, but neither of them speaks. He steps back, waiting on Isaac to make the next move.

He failed Isaac yesterday, only now realizing how much when he takes in the state that he's in. Derek's eyes rake over his body, his dishevelled hair and clothes wrinkled and torn in areas. He's lifting his left foot so it's just hovering over the floor, probably hurt, and the dark circles around his eyes make him look exhausted.

It's the bruise on his upper left cheek that draws his attention the most, puffy and an angry purple with different shades of greens and yellows. He has other bruises, too, but not as prominent. The hurt and upset look Isaac's face make Derek hurt just as much, but before he can either get a word into his apology Isaac is limping over and colliding into Derek with a force that probably hurt him.

Derek wraps his arms around him on impulse, holding him tight and burying his face into Isaac's hair where he's resting his head on Derek's shoulder. He exhales sharply, breathing out a relieved sigh without even realizing he was holding his breath. He doesn't miss Isaac's choked off sob, and it only makes Derek hold on to Isaac tighter, like Derek is the one that needs support.

"You're okay," he whispers, eyes catching Erica looking up at him. They hold the stare for a moment before she's standing up and leaving with a soft smile. She puts her hand on Isaac's shoulder as she goes before wordlessly leaving. "You're okay," he says again, because he needs to hear just as much as Isaac. He's okay.

His eyes travel to the other side of the room, to the empty bed sitting in the corner with no sign of anyone having returned to it. He immediately pulls back, and regrets it when Isaac flinches with the sudden movement. "McCall?" Isaac swallows before answering, shaking his head with his eyes downcast on the floor.

"No," he says quietly. Derek doesn't push further, doesn't know what to say, really. He knows Scott and Isaac are close, and he knows it's the only reason Isaac didn't turn him in. He has to admit that he does feel a little sympathy for him, and even his friends, because tomorrow he has to go back there and explain why their friend might be dead.

He pushes all of those thought away though, saves them for later. He'll deal with it tomorrow, but for now, he just pulls Isaac back in, pushes his nose back into his hair and breathes in his soothing scent, hoping that the faint smell Isaac can get from him is enough to do the same. He's safe.

Well, as safe as you can be in a place like this.

**Leave a review and let me know what you think. You can find me on tumblr at t-g-i-sterek, and I've also started a new series 'I Would U and I Together' so you can check that out, too. I'll probably re-write and then contine 'The Mortise to my Tenon' at some stage after this, which is looking like a pretty long one. You can expect Chapter 3 around December 18th or so!**


	3. Protocol

**Yo! What better early Christmas present could there be than a new chapter, right? RIGHT? Anyways, it's a little later than I originally intended, but enjoy!**

Stile trudges through the woods alone this time, nothing filling the silence but the sound of the ground under his feet and woodland animals around him. He doesn't register the puddle of water in his path until he walks right into it. He groans, pulling his foot out, which is now caked in mud and that's great. _Great_.

He considers grabbing a leaf from a nearby bush to wipe the excess mud off, but he just sighs and continues onward instead. It's chillier today, although the sun is shining and that makes Stiles wonder if the coldness inside him is what's causing goose bumps on his arm or the actual weather.

Scott wasn't there. He wasn't there and he was in danger and it's all his fault. He feels helpless, even more so than usual. He's worried that Scott's not going to be there again, and nervous because Scott _might be_ there again. He's almost afraid of knowing, of what he might find, but also afraid of what he might _now_ find.

He's also afraid of the guy. The one that was there yesterday. He wonders if Derek's going to be there again, maybe he might rub the fact that Stiles fucked up in his face some more. Stiles still can't pin where he's seen that face before, but he knows it's familiar. He doesn't dwell on it though, hadn't even thought about it again until now.

No, he was too busy trying to rid his words out of his brain. He didn't sleep last night, and it probably explains why he's been so moody today, but that could also be just a reflex for being so frustrated with himself and with Scott. Over Scott. He tossed and turned all night, all the while wondering what the hell happened and if Scott was dead or alive.

He didn't go to school today, couldn't face Allison knowing that Scott was in trouble and it was his fault. He avoided her calls all day and didn't answer the door when she called around after school. He hopes that by some miracle she didn't notice the big, blue jeep she had to pass to get to the front door and thought he wasn't home.

She knows he was, and he knows she does. Lydia didn't say a word about it during the ride up here, and he figured that she was pointedly not mentioning Allison with the amount of consideration she was putting into her words when describing her day. At one point it looked as though she was going to tell a funny story that he missed at school and then stopped. Allison must have been involved.

She still told him to tell Scott that she was asking for him when she was dropping him off, but her heart wasn't in it and he could read it all over her face. Allison must have told her because God knows he hasn't said a word to her since they arrived at the fence. He didn't even say anything in the car, and neither did Allison. Lydia didn't push to ask what was wrong, but he knew she could tell.

So yeah, he didn't handle the idea that he might have gotten his best friend killed very well. Figures. He shut Allison out and went home without a word, not even a goodbye. He pretended not to hear his father in the living room watching 'Married… With Children' and silently went straight to his room and crawled into bed, not getting out of it until about an hour ago.

That's when he ate, took a shower and waited for Lydia to arrive, thankfully without Allison, and brought him here. Here, as it turns out, is right in front of the bushes that separate the forest from the facility. He hadn't even realized he was close, never mind twenty feet away. He considers turning back for a brief moment, but decides against it because if Scott's there he's going to want somebody there with him.

He takes one steadying breath before pushing forward, not realizing just how slow he's walking, just to prolong the bliss that is ignorance. His heart sinks when he gets to the edge of the bushes on the other side, through the branches he can see a figure, but it's enough to see that it's not Scott, but the other guy.

::: :::

Derek hears him rather than sees him, and he suspects that the kid doesn't actually realize just how loud he is. An amused smile curls his lips. "You know your hoodie isn't exactly subtle," he calls to the figure watching him from the bushes not ten feet away. He hears a faint 'crap', before the kid is standing before him. Of course, he's referring to the fact that the kid is wearing a bright red hoodie while walking through the woods in daylight.

He doesn't say anything as he approaches the fence, and Derek silently watches him from where he's sitting in the grass, his back to the wall. He squints up at the boy's face, whose looking adorably determined with his creased baby face, a frustrated curl to his lips.

"Where's Scott?" he demands in a no bull shit attitude.

"Sit down," Derek says after a moment's pause. The kid looks down at the ground and then back up at Derek without making a move to do as Derek suggested. He can tell the kid is reluctant, and definitely a pain in the ass. Stubborn.

He does sit down though, matches Derek pose of crossing his legs and looks Derek square in the eye. Derek tries not to look too smug about it, this is pretty serious after all, and he should probably take it easy on the kid for both their sakes. "Tell me what happened," he says, when he comes to the conclusion that Derek probably still hasn't learned where Scott is since the last time they spoke.

"There was accident a couple of days ago," and Derek continues when the guy's face crumples with how that sounded. "Scott wasn't involved, but there was room search ordered and they found everything Scott had been hiding. He and his roommate were caught and taken away."

"Isaac," he says faintly, staring down at the ground. For some reason he didn't think Scott had mentioned Isaac, but he supposes that that's perfectly understandable that he had. He wonders just how much Scott told him and how much he knows about what they really are. This isn't exactly a prison for werewolves as far as the public are aware. "And you haven't heard from them?" he asks hopefully, and this is where it gets complicated.

"Not exactly," he answers honestly, and that has him lifting his head back up again with raised eyebrows. Derek almost doesn't want to crush the look on his face.

"I don't know what that means," he shakes his head, urging him to continue. Derek sighs, considering his words, but the boy just seems to grow impatient the longer he takes.

"Isaac came back yesterday evening."

"Oh," he says, although it didn't sound as hurt as Derek had anticipated. "That means there's hope right? That Scott will come back, too." He's nodding his head like it's a silent plea for Derek to say yes, to just go along with it even if there's no hope and Derek knows he won't be. Derek almost does, but shakes his head again.

"Isaac didn't actually do anything wrong. He wasn't the one that was sneaking prohibited items into their room. Isaac just happened to share a room with somebody that did and got caught up in the mess." The hopeful look on the kid's face doesn't seem to have been deterred, so Derek doesn't continue for fear that the kid's heart will break right there in front of him.

A silence falls between them, the boy opposite him just pulling blade of grass out of the ground and then disposing of them almost as soon as he picked them up.

"The camera is off, by the way," he says a while later, breaking the silence as he points up to the camera on the wall facing them. "Just in case you were wondering." He was, actually, but his tone makes him sound disinterested. "I know one of the operators, he's been helping me out." He doesn't know if he's boasting about it or just needing a way to fill the silence. Derek was just about to get up and leave before he spoke, and the kid could leave whenever he wants, so he'll go with the former.

"It sounds like it's quite an elaborate scheme you've got going on," Derek goes along with it. He smiles minutely, one hand of his elbows resting on his crossed leg as his cheek rests against his palm. He looks tired, like he could topple over any second now.

"Thanks," he says. Just when Derek thinks he's not going to continue speaking he does. "There's a girl, Lydia, she drives me up to the edge of the forest and I go on foot from there."

"She was with you yesterday," he says, but he just shakes his head in response.

"No, that was Allison. She couldn't come today." His tone changes then, from bored to sad, but Derek doesn't ask, doesn't particularly want to know. The only reason he's still here is to humour the kid. "It's Lydia that's the driver, she waits for an hour before coming back to pick me up." Derek realizes then that he's not actually boasting but just really needs something to talk about to pass the time.

Derek settles in instead of being on the verge of leaving all the time, and he seems to notice but doesn't say anything. He looks tired and lonely and Derek knows exactly what he's feeling, he's felt it for four years.

"Have you been doing this for four years?" Derek asks, and the boy perks up again. He nods, but doesn't say anything further. Well, that's the first and last time Derek will ever try and strike up a conversation. Another stretch of silence begins, and it lasts a few minutes before he starts talking again.

"Hey, what's your name?" he asks, and Derek stiffens, looking like a deer caught in headlights. The pauses continues for such a long time that it just gets awkward and the kid rolls his eyes. He's not sure if he should be giving away that kind of information, after all, he doesn't know this kid and he could just be a hunter testing him. He wouldn't put it passed them, any excuse to put a bullet in one of them.

"I'm Stiles," he says, putting his palm flat against his chest. Stiles gives him an expectant look when Derek opens his mouth.

"What kind of a name is Stiles?" he asks, and Stiles deflates, throwing a limp hand at him in a '_forget it' _gesture. He doesn't know why he does it, but he does anyway.

"Derek." The kid- Stiles, looks back up at him. "What?"

"My name is Derek." Stiles gives him a calculating look before shrugging, and Derek only realizes that Stiles brought a backpack with him when he pulls it around in front of him an unzips it to pull out a plastic lunch box.

Derek knows what's in it before Stiles even finishes lifting off the lid. Even now he still recognizes the delicious smell, he hasn't had apple pie this good since his mo- in a very long time, is all. Stiles wraps the large end in a piece of tissue, and Derek can't seem to take his eyes off the slice in Stiles' long, slender fingers.

Stiles nudges it toward the fence in offering. Derek considers it, and he knows how hypocritical it is to take this, but knows how amazing it would taste if he just went ahead and took it. One more intake of apple pie-filled air has his mouth watering in anticipation.

But Stiles seems to acknowledge Derek's inward battle, rolls his eyes and reaches through the fence. Derek takes a sharp intake of air as he watches Stiles do it, still in disbelief that anyone would even dare to put a finger across the border, before Stiles is wrapping Derek's own fingers around the slice before retreating carefully.

And Derek doesn't even stop him, just watches and allows him without snapping or flinching away from the physical contact. He eyes the slice dubiously, and the thought that Stiles might not even be McCall's friend but an untrustworthy stranger is still lingering in the back of his head. It could be poison, it could laced with mountain ash, he shouldn't even be-

"Just eat it, you idiot," he huffs, looking very disappointed in him. Derek eyes it briefly one more time before shrugging and reluctantly bites the tip. He's hardly closed his mouth around it when a moan escapes his mouth involuntarily, but he's too busy floating on air to even feel slightly humiliated with himself.

The moan that comes after that comes out longer this time, more luxurious, and he closes his eyes in ecstasy just as Stiles' cheeks flare a hot red. "This is amazing," he mumbles, crumbs spewing from his mouth. Stiles swallows and nods quickly.

"I know, right?" he says hoarsely, coughing afterwards to clear his throat and dips his gaze to the floor. Derek leans back more comfortably against the wall savouring the last mouthful as the flavours dance on his tongue. He sighs after, opens his eyes to meet Stiles' flushed, hard stare.

He's starting to understand the appeal of coming here every day, and finds that any judgement he had been feeling over Scott has vanished. Well, except for the fact that he was stupid enough to bring things in with him and put Isaac's life in danger.

No, there's definitely judgement on that front, but as Derek catches Stiles' eyes, he thinks that eating a poisoned apple pie is a death to be desired in this place.

::: :::

Stiles wouldn't say he had a comfortable sleep. No, it was the opposite in fact. And that being said he had barely slept at all. He spent the majority of his time in bed worrying over Scott, about how he hadn't shown up and how he might be dead and that opened a whole other can of worms that Stiles isn't even going to think about now, because honestly, being on the verge of a panic attack once in the last twelve hours is enough, thank you.

Not to mention all of the guilt he feels, about Scott and for Allison, and for how he basically led her along and cock-blocked in the most superior of ways. Oh, and of course, what he's going to say to her in school today, how he's going to apologize and excuse his ignoring her yesterday, and that's if she's even still talking to him, which he's almost certainly sure she isn't.

And then that led to Derek and whoever the fuck he is, and that's when Stiles realizes that Stiles doesn't know shit about the guy, it's not like 'Derek' rang any bells anyway. And then there's how Derek even knew who Stiles was, because he's almost a thousand percent sure they made a pact not to tell anybody.

Well, apart from Lydia and Allison (because they kind of need to know), and Jackson only knows by association with Lydia, because which of his secrets has she _not _told him. Like, surely Scott could keep it a secret from some fucking random guy if Stiles has to keep it from Scott's mother to keep her safe and _hello_, Stiles' father.

And by the time those thoughts came around it already way past four am and even his brain was getting sick of listening to him so he did his best to just get rid of his mother's disappointed face looking at him, because let's be real here, she'd totally be judging him if she was still around. And then that led to thoughts of his mother, and as the world can probably guess, he's not very fond of those thoughts, either.

So basically, his night was a cluster-fuck of awful memories, guilt, panic attacks, and shittiness all round. Which is why when his alarm goes off he almost considers taking another sick day and avoiding all of his problems for another twenty four hours all together. He's a fan of ignoring the problem until it goes away.

He needs his Adderall, because damn, that was a lot of shit to think of in thirty seconds.

Stiles whines to the obnoxiously loud sound of his alarm, slapping his hand around the bedside locker until it eventually falls off the side, still alarming the fuck out of him. He pouts, rolling along the bed until he gets to the very edge and throws his hand down. It falls quiet, and he ends up lying there, embracing the last minute that he has in his nice, warm bed before getting up.

He eventually stands, almost falling in his tired-drunk state as he hobbles straight to the bathroom to pee, his eyes still droopy and mostly shut. He takes a shower and dresses himself, still hunched over and walking like a zombie, still not fully awake. He can already tell that today is going to be a joy.

He's had the night and morning from hell, and it can only go downhill from here…

"You're avoiding her," Lydia remarks. Stiles closes his eyes, asks for patience. Not out loud obviously, he likes not having a red heel stuck up his ass. He can picture the sass in Lydia's stance behind him, book in one arm resting against her tilted hip, hand resting on the other side.

"M'not," he says, closing the door to his locker and immediately looking to his right. Lydia sighs behind him, Stiles pretends not to hear.

"Oh yeah? Then why are you making sure she's not standing at her locker right now?" Stiles contains his wince, turns his head away from Allison's thankfully unattended locker, and instead begins walking to his left, the sound of Lydia's relentless heels clapping the ground behind him.

He could out-walk her right now. Her legs are short and she's wearing heels. It probably wouldn't be a good idea, he's faced the ginger fury before and it wasn't exactly a joyous experience that he wants to live through again.

Plus, Lydia could run a marathon in heels.

"She told me what happened, by the way. Oh, and thanks for the information, jackass." Stiles slows, an inquisitive yet confused look on his face.

"I'm not your boyfriend. Oh wait, no, that's Jack_son_. I get mixed up sometimes," he shrugs. Lydia smiles falsely at him.

"Cute," she curls her lip. "Save the foreplay for when he's _actually_ around." Stiles winks at her, and she breaks eye contact with him.

"So when _is_ Jackson going to grace us with his presence?" he drawls, trying not to say anything too negative considering the little pact of allegiance they've agreed to in sophomore year.

"Whenever you stop trying to change the subject." Stiles almost comes to a halt, but manages to keep to the same pace down the hall.

"When did I start?" Lydia tilts her head, eyes on the ceiling as she feigns deep thought.

"Well, there was that time ten minutes ago when you redirected the conversation to my hair colour. Remember? You asked if I had changed it even though we both know you've paid enough attention to it since third grade that it's practically ingrained into your brain."

"I vaguely remember that. Name another time."

"Oh. There was that time when you were doing right now." Stiles snorts, but the look on Lydia's face tells him she doesn't find it so funny.

"Yup," he says, popping the 'p'. Lydia puts a hand on his elbow, a move that would have floored him three years ago. They come to a halt, and the look of sincerity on her face nearly has him cracking like concrete under a jackhammer.

She's about as powerful as one.

"It's okay, you know," she says, her thumb brushing against his skin. He barely has time to think of a response to that before the morning bell gives him the perfect escape.

"Oh," he winces, moving to walk away. "Would you look at that? We're out of time, it was fun speaking to you, though!" he calls dramatically, escaping into the first classroom he sees.

"You can't hide forever, Stilinski!" he hears her call over the crowd of students rushing the hall. He lets out a sigh of relief as he leans back against the closed door. It's the sound of Harris' shrill voice that has him opening them again.

"Nice of you to join us, Stilinski. I'm glad you decided to take full advantage of the extra morning classes I've been holding." He turns to the rest of the class, who are staring back at him from their seats.

He pretends not to notice Allison sitting somewhere in the middle, and ignores the 'God knows you need them' that Harris utters under his breath as he walks. That would explain why she wasn't around this morning, then.

So much for keeping a low profile and avoiding her, as previously planned this morning. He can feel the judgment in the air as he takes a seat at the back instead of his usual one next to Allison. He knows it looks like he's being a dick. Maybe he is being a dick, he just can't find it in him to care. So he starts again on the whole keeping his head down thing and takes his notes like a good student.

By the time lunch rolls around on the clock he's managed to up the amount of people he's avoiding to a whopping three people. After what was arguably a jaw-dropping display of teaching by Harris he was practically sprinting out the door in such a fashion that even Finstock would have been proud.

And would have probably yelled a lot about Stiles lacking in fitness when running track. You win some, you lose some.

And then there's Lydia, who he managed to outrun in the hall earlier that day despite the consequences he will no doubt face later. She was even calling his name from down the hall. That'll earn him an extra kick to the balls later when she finally catches up to him.

And then there's Jackson because, well, he's Jackson and Stiles tends to avoid him every day. At this rate he'll be hiding from half the school by dinner time.

It's when he's bypassing the cafeteria at lunch that he actually _does_ bump into Jackson. And when there's Jackson there's usually a five foot fiery demon in tow. In what was no doubt a stunning display of maturity, she flicked him four times on the forehead and yelled 'Get your goddamn head out of your ass!'

She even first named him. That's when he knew he was really in trouble. On the bright side his balls are still in-tact and the entire situation is fixable. The bright side is still very dull, apparently. So dull that he ended up in the library during lunch, having made his way there after Lydia stomped off and Jackson hissed unsympathetically in sympathy.

There's a reason Stiles thinks he's a jackass. He is found later on though, in what Stiles would like to call an ambush.

"You look tired," Allison comments, sitting next to him on the bleachers. Okay, so not quite an ambush.

"I am tired," is all he says in reply.

"Me too." Stiles nods, eyes fixed at his fumbling hands. It's a little chili outside, he should invest in a heavier hoodie, a pair of gloves maybe. "Did you sleep?"

"Nope," he says honestly. "Not since Scott left." _Disappeared_, he wanted to say.

"He still hasn't come back?" He shakes his head as an answer, doesn't know how to explain to her in words that Scott still hasn't been seen at all, or that he's in contact with some stranger. A story for a different day maybe. "Do you think he's going to?"

Stiles doesn't answer her, instead looks at her for the first time since she sat down. She looks about as tired as he feels, and he wonders if she's slept any more than he has. "He'll be back." Not because he believes it, or that he wants to believe it, but because he _has_ to believe. He has to believe that Scott will be there waiting for him later. Otherwise he might lose his freaking mind.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes, doesn't meet her eyes but he means it in every sense of the word. Sorry for avoiding her, sorry for getting her hopes up and sorry for knocking them back down again. Sorry for Scott. And not just for what happened with him the other day, but for what he did four years ago. "If I hadn't dragged him-"

"Don't," she says, and the word hits him with such force that the rest of the sentence just falls off his tongue. He doesn't mention that day again, and neither does she.

"I'm going back later," he changes the subject. Something tells him she was about to do the same. It's hardly news to her anyway. She doesn't respond, it's not really up for discussion anyway. They both know he'll go regardless of what he expects to happen. He knows she's not coming back with him, he figures it's a conversation left undiscussed.

A cool breeze sends shivers down his spine, and when he curls in on himself for warmth Allison stands from her seat.

"Come on," she urges. "Let's get inside its freezing." Stiles looks up at her and nods as she begins to walk, and he takes the stairs two steps at a time to catch up to her.

"You know, I think Finstock is finally starting to acknowledge me," he says, a sudden light-hearted shift in the conversation. Allison looks over to where Finstock is giving it loads to one of Stiles' teammates that he's never bothered to learn the name of, not even noticing Stiles leave practise early.

"Mhm," she hums, a mischievous grin on her face. Stiles scrunches his nose at her, shoves her shoulder softly and she laughs. He loves her laugh, even if he rarely hears it these days. "That why you've been sitting on the bench the last twenty minutes?"

"Shut up. Stalker," he mutters, not even the slightest bit offended. It's senior year and he's going to make it to first line by the last game if it's the last thing he ever does.

::: :::

Derek makes sure to shut the cell door when he changes. He doesn't trust himself to not get killed while he's blinded by the fabric of his shirt when he pulls it over his head. Although he doesn't know if it's a lack of trust in himself or a lack of trust in others.

He trusts neither anyway.

It's hard to put faith in anybody in here, including himself. Someone's always bound to let you down, or get killed, or get _you_ killed. It's happened enough in the last few days. He finds himself leaving the cell, eyes glancing over to Greenberg's cell where a new door still has to be fitted.

He wonders how long it'll be before the cell is filled. If he had money, he'd put it on the end of the week. He supposes it's the only faith you can have here, you can always have faith that the worst is yet to come.

It's not the only perfect example of what he's just said. Yes, Greenberg let everybody down, got himself killed and killed Jared in the process. As he passes Isaac's thankfully empty cell, he can't help but blame him a little for what happened with him and McCall.

Isaac had faith. He had faith in McCall to not let him down, to not get killed, to not get Isaac himself killed. And it's exactly what McCall did, because Derek's nothing if not honest, McCall is dead. They all know it, even Stiles must know it. Erica and Boyd the same, the only reason nobody's said it out loud is for Isaac's benefit.

Isaac is learning about the cold, harsh reality of this place.

And he looks at himself, for having trust Isaac. When Isaac left, Derek nearly went out of his mind. And now that he's back, Derek doesn't trust himself to get close to him anymore. Because Derek trusts far too easily, and it's a habit that got him in here in the first place. The only time Derek _doesn't_ trust people is when it actually matters.

And he knows, better than anybody, that the hunters aren't the only monsters in this place, because it's not what you are that makes you a monster, it's who you are. And some people are just monstrous people. Take Aiden for example, who he sees seated at a table when he passes through the canteen.

And it's not just Aiden, it's the whole pack. Bar Ethan, of course. They're a bunch of loose canons on the brink of firing, and Derek can say that he trusts his judgement enough to know that it won't end well for any of them. He's watched them, for the past year or so, just watched from a distance as the cracks formed.

They're not who they were a year ago, and he's seen some of the shit they've pulled when they were stable, but now, when they're on the verge of a meltdown, he can't imagine what's coming his way. It always comes his way.

And when he passes Satomi in the corridor, they don't speak. They don't make eye contact, neither of them acknowledge the other. She's an old family friend, he remembers her from when he was just a child. She doesn't look like she's aged a day, from what he can remember. He should trust her, like his mother did, but then again his mother was always put far too much faith in others, even hunters.

Just another reason why he's here, he supposes, but pushes any thought of it away as he enters the counsellor's room.

::: :::

"You know, I was just thinking," Derek says, catching Morrell's undivided attention. She's been staring at him in silence for the last fifteen minutes with her notepad resting on her folded arms. She never takes notes. He wonders if she uses it as a barrier between them, a shield to symbolise who's really in control here.

She nods her head. She never speaks first, and Derek wonders if it's a power thing. That she knows he'll speak first, that he'll break before she does. "I was just wondering why it is that you're here."

"Excuse me?" she asks, without a single change in her calm expression. It's almost eerie.

"I was just thinking why it is that you're here. The psychiatrists, as you call yourselves. What are you here for?" She takes a moment to respond like they both don't already know the answer.

"Protocol. Why do you think _you_ are here, Derek?" Derek smiles at her answer, so predetermined and rehearsed.

"I was just about to ask you the same question." Her tone is calm when she speaks, the mask on her face still standing strong.

"Why don't we leave the question asking to me?" she says, eyes meeting his and never wavering. "Why do you think _you're_ here?"

"You've already asked me that question. Did you know it was the first thing you said to me?" He wonders what it says about him that he remembers something so insignificant from four years back. Maybe it's because the answer is what stayed with him.

"Answer again." He wonders if she even remembers his answer, if she remembers his face from so long ago, in the moment he realized what the world thought of him. He wonders if she's hoping for a change in opinion.

"Because I'm a monster," he answers automatically, like the answer has been drilled into his head so much that even he believes it. She seems to consider him, but he knows it's all for show.

"You don't believe that, do you?" Derek lifts his gaze to meet hers.

"Do _you_?" he snipes, and when he realizes she's not going to answer he sighs, dropping his gaze back to the floor. "No. I don't believe it."

"Why?"

"Do monsters have nightmares?" he lifts his gaze again, looks her dead in the eye and waits for a response. She hasn't moved since he sat down twenty minutes ago, and he wonders if her eyes have left his the entire time. She knows how to play the game, maybe the problem is that she knows it too well.

"You're having nightmares again," she responds in lieu of an actual answer. It's usually how she works, a question for a question. "It's been a while, hasn't it?" Derek only nods. "Why do you think that is?"

"I don't know. You tell me," he hunches forward, arms folded and resting against his knees as he sits. "You're the psychiatrist." His leg bounces as he waits for a response.

"Acceptance." Derek snorts, sitting straight again and resting his head against the back of the chair. He nods his head and smiles at the ceiling.

"Hate to break it to you, but I accepted this place a _long_ time ago." It was about three, maybe four months in, when he realized that this was his life now, this is it for him. It made it easier, but also harder at the same time.

"Maybe its peace."

"In this place?" Derek asks, because there's no such thing as peace in this place. How on Earth could she possibly have come up with peace?

"You're referring to the other night, aren't you? The feral." Derek hates that word, as much as he's used it and heard it being used. Like he's a wild animal. It hits a nerve in him. "Greenberg, no?"

"Yeah," he says, without pause, because somebody remembered his fucking name.

"It upset you. Shook you." Derek meets her eyes again. "Scared you." A bitter smile spreads across Derek's face. He could almost laugh at her.

"I'm not scared," he says easily, because he's not. He wonders if that's a good or a bad thing.

"Why did it scare you?" she asks, and Derek rubs his eyes tiredly. She's starting to sound like a broken record, but he doesn't repay her with a response. "Why did it give you nightmares?" He knows she knows where this is going.

"My uncle."

"Peter," she says thoughtlessly, just as Derek knew she would.

"Yeah. It- The same thing happened to him," he says, but doesn't clarify.

"Which was?" Derek sighs, rests his chin in his hands as his eyes move to the window, high up the wall. He can see clouds, a hint of blue by the corner of the window.

"I know what you're thinking," he tells her, and she quirks an eyebrow at him. It's the first facial movement she's made in the entire session.

"Is that so?" she urges him on, and he gets the sense that she's still in control, that she'll always be in control no matter what direction he takes the conversation in.

"He turned into a monster." She looks satisfied with that answer, but doesn't push on. "A wild, savage, raging beast. That's what you wanted me to say, right?"

"Why would you say that?"

"It's true, isn't it?"

"Is it?" she asks, as collected as ever. Derek barely resists the urge to roll his eyes skyward.

"I don't think I trust myself to answer that question," he answers her honestly. He knows _that's_ true, because he knows himself that the longer he stays here the more he starts to believe it. How could he not?

"You don't trust many, do you?" Derek jerks his head back to face her, her words unexpected. In hindsight he should have seen it coming, should have chosen his words more carefully. He doesn't say anything. "You trust me." It's not a question, more of a statement, but not smug. She says it like its fact. Its certainly news to Derek.

"Do I?" Because he's not entirely sure himself. Surely it's preposterous.

"Why else would you open up to me?" This time Derek does roll his eyes, an unamused smile on his face. She doesn't seem to find it funny, but there's a smile on her face regardless, and Derek feels like that smile is one of judgement, or pity even.

"I think 'open up' is a bit of a stretch," he says. A bit too strong of a term for what they do here. He's never had anything more than a conversation in his eyes, never anything that comes close to opening up. She clears her throat, flicks a stray hair out of her vision. This time her smile does seem amused.

"Your name is Derek Samuel Alan Hale. You're twenty two years old, born December twenty-fifth, 1993. You're son of Talia and Daniel Hale, as are Cora, Laura, and your twin brothers, Oscar and Alex. You lived with your uncle Peter, who had two kids, Liam and Malia. You attended Beacon Hills High School, where you were captain of the basketball team. It's also where you met K-"

"I get it," he interrupts her, sensing the next part of his life story that she was about to touch on. It's not something he needs to hear out loud, again apparently. He feels bile rising in the back of his throat at the thought of the name alone, and she only said the first letter.

"You asked me why I'm here, Derek. You gave yourself an answer to that question just now." Derek can feel his laboured breathing beginning to calm down as she speaks, and he goes almost silent in anticipation for her next few words. "I'm here to study you. In the last ten minutes I've come to the conclusion that you are scared. You're alone. Tired. Restless. Shaken. Wise."

Derek scoffs at her. "You know what you are, Derek. And to answer your previous question; I do think there are monsters in here." With that she ends the session, and Derek finds himself outside the room before he even registers that he's sat up.

He knows what she meant by her words, doesn't mean he has to believe her.

::: :::

Derek's tying his laces while kneeling on the ground when Erica strides into his cell, flops onto the bed and sprawls out across it. Derek blinks up at her, her head tilted right to look at him, faces only inches apart.

"Hey handsome," she winks, and scoffing, he goes back to tying his laces. She peeks down as he busies his hands. "Where ya goin'?"

"A walk," he lies, but he says it casually enough that she won't read too much into it. He goes on walks regularly so it's nothing out of the ordinary. He'd prefer runs, like he used to, but he'll take what he can get.

She groans, rolling back over on her back to stare up at the ceiling. Derek smirks, anticipating her words and knowing exactly what she's about to say.

"Ugh, you're so boring. Why don't you ever just want to hang out?" Derek quirks an eyebrow up at her, even though she can't see it.

"You want to hang out?" he asks suspiciously. It's a bit of a strange situation, if he's honest with himself. She's never asked him to _hang out_ before, they've barely even conversed up until the other day.

"Yeah. You know, relax, have fun, tell each other secrets," she drawls. "You are familiar with the concept?" she mocks him.

"Ooh," he says, rising. "Can we talk about boys and braid each other's hair?" Erica grins up at him, he likes her like this, its a new side of her.

"Nobody told me you were funny," she tilts her head, like she's trying and failing to suss him out. Derek exhales a put-upon sigh.

"Nobody ever believes I want to talk about boys," he shakes his head, and Erica actually laughs. Derek can't help but smile back. "I've wanted a braid for years."

"Grow out your beard and I'll braid it for you. I think the hipster-stoner look would suit you." Derek hums, zipping up his hoodie. "Go on your walk you old man. I'll be here when you get back, thinking about boys," she sighs dreamily, and Derek snorts, because he knows she'll be thinking about _a_ boy. His name rhymes with Boyd.

It's when he gets to the exercise yard that his mood turns suddenly less humorous. The sight of Isaac in the distance, on one of the machines makes his chest ache. Half because he hasn't seen Isaac since the night he got back, mainly due to Derek's avoidance of him, and half because Isaac never exercises.

He supposes the thing with McCall shook him more than Derek thought it had. He quickly moves away, settling on the idea that he can deal with it later, or tomorrow maybe. He's usually not one for ignoring the problem until it goes away, and that's not really what's happening here anyway. He's more of a 'sit back and wait for the problem to find me' type of guy.

It doesn't matter now anyway, because he finds himself rounding the wall to the fence without a second thought for Isaac. His thoughts move towards McCall, and how he _still_ hasn't returned yet. He sits in the grass and leans back against the wall, and waits for Stiles to arrive.

He's resting his eyes when Stiles does eventually come, and this time he's wearing a less obvious, green, plaid shirt. He wonders if Stiles wore it on purpose. Derek immediately sits up, and when his eyes meet Stiles, he can practically _feel_ the disappointment in them.

Stiles opens his mouth, closes it, opens it, and Derek hates the look on his face. He doesn't move away from the threshold of the bush, doesn't approach the fence, he doesn't make any move to come closer.

And it's not until Derek shakes his head that a look of resigned sadness and disappointment washes across his features. He nods, blinking rapidly as he dips his head and turns around, back through the bushes. Derek wordlessly watches him leave, doesn't even try and explain anything, just lets him leave.

It's not until Stiles is definitely gone that he stands back up again, and it's a long while at least before he does. That whole thing was a little strange, Stiles in particular, but he can't help but feel sorry for him, helpless behind a fence and nothing to do about it.

He feels more sympathy for Stiles in that moment than he does for himself. Shrugging, he rounds the wall again.

He'll be back tomorrow.

::: :::

"He'll be there," Lydia says, for what feels like the millionth time since they got in the car. It sounds highly illogical that she's said it a million times but- whatever, she has, okay? He sighs and keeps his gaze on the passing forestry.

"So, I've been told. By everybody."

"By three people," she answers back. Excuse him for being a little impatient after what happened yesterday, when Derek was sitting against the wall waiting for him and not Scott. He couldn't sit there and pretend to not want to go home, so he just turned around and left.

"Three people too many, to be honest." He can hear the eye roll as she takes a left turn. They're not too far now. He's dreading it.

"What'd you bring him?" she changes the subject, and it sounds so casual that if he didn't know her as well as he does, he might actually believe that she thinks he's there waiting for him. They both know better, as proven by the fact that he's empty handed today.

"Nothing," he glances down at the floor, where there's no bogs and no treats sitting there between his legs. "No use carrying a bunch of shit around for nothing, eh?" She shakes her head, like _he's_ the one being illogical here.

"You know even if he's not there, it's not your faul-"

"Don't," he cuts in, maybe a little harsher than was strictly necessary, but it shut her up all the same. He's not even angry, he's tired of hearing the same bullshit over and over again. Stiles never actually blamed himself, never in words anyway. The fact that everyone keeps saying it for him just goes to show that they think it, too.

Otherwise, they must be mind-readers.

"Should I hang around, just in case? You were pretty quick yesterday." And there it is, the doubt in her mind finally bleeding through, and he can't even feel smug about catching her out on her lies. Stiles shakes his head.

"No. I'll call you if I need you." She nods, and if he knows her as well as he thinks he does, _she's_ feeling smug right now. He knows all she heard there was that he has hope that Scott will be there, and that that's why he'll take so long. Truth is he'll be talking to Derek, but she doesn't have to know that.

"Yesterday," she starts again, and the word cuts him like a cold reminder of the ache he felt the day before. "Was he there? The guy?" _Derek_, he almost corrects. Stiles shakes his head again instead, in one of the few occasions where he manages to bite his tongue.

"No. No, he wasn't there. Nobody was." He hopes she can't pick up on his lies, but he figures her attention is being paid mostly to the road, so he thinks he's in the clear for now. She can read him like a book usually, that girl.

"Maybe Scott just missed you," she says, and Stiles actually laughs. It's bitter, but amused at the same time.

"Don't patronize me," he wheezes, coming down from the high of the laugh. Lydia sighs across from him, and it has his temper flaring, even though she's not to know he has an insider giving him information. He doesn't even know if he can trust Derek. He can't tell anyone about him until he knows Derek is a reliable source.

"How do you know he hasn't?" Lydia pushes him further.

"Because Scott hasn't 'missed me' in four years, okay Lyds? That's not something that ever happens." The end of the sentence feels final, and a silence drags on between them that's almost unbearably loud.

"I just hate seeing you like this," she says softly, glancing at him briefly before turning back to the road. It's only when she looks at him that he realizes how he must look. Tired, pale, slouched down in the seat, and when he becomes aware of himself, he realizes he's honest to God pouting.

"You must be pretty used to by now. After four years of it." It comes out with more patience than what he's actually feeling, and it just now hits him how long it's been going on for. _Four years_. Four year and nothing. If anything, they're further off from saving anybody in there than they were at the beginning.

"It wasn't always like this."

"No, because he was alive!" he yells, and he's not even apologetic for the way that she flinches across from him. "We had hope!" His voice is a loud contrast to hers, and she keeps herself calm and collected while Stiles seems to be splitting at the seams.

"There's always hope, Stiles." She sounds hopeful, and it's so genuine that he almost falls for it. He shakes his head in frustration, unbuckling his seat belt as the car comes to a halt.

"The only thing we can hope for, is that I haven't actually killed him." And with that he slams the car door shut behind him, trudging off into the woods alone and leaving her there with a tear running down her cheek.

He knows he shouldn't be so harsh on her, he knows it's not her fault, and it's only when he's minutes away from the facility that he realizes this. He's going to have a lot of explaining to do later, but he'll figure it out eventually. Right now there are more pressing matters at hand, like the broody stranger named Derek waiting on the other side of the fence for him.

He can't say he's surprised, or even disappointed. Nah, he went through the stages of denial for the last time yesterday, when his heart shattered the moment he saw Derek waiting and not Scott. They had geared him up for it all day, told him he'd be there, told him not to worry, made him fall for it, made him hopeful.

Not today. No, today, he got exactly what he was expecting. It hurts slightly less when you know life is going to fuck you over. At least he had time to prepare for this one.

Stiles sighs and accepts his fate, wordlessly sitting down cross-legged in the grass. Derek's eyes are on him the entire time, and he doesn't speak either. The sound for the first few moments is the wind brushing against the leaves and branches behind him. Derek still watches him.

"McCall's not here," he states, and okay, Stiles snorts. Derek narrows his eyes at him, but with their thickness it's hard to take them seriously.

"Gee, I didn't notice. Thanks for the info though, I knew I could count on you." Derek looks more confused now than anything, and there's maybe a hint of anger there, or frustration. Another silence falls between them, and it's only when Derek looks like he's about to high-tail it out of there that Stiles speaks again. "So what's new with you, Derek?" Now there's _just_ confusion on his face.

"What?" he asks gruffly.

"What's up? Talk to me here," he gestures to himself, and then between the two of them. "You do know how to talk, right?" Derek full on scowls at him, and boy is it fun winding this guy up.

"I didn't come here to talk," he says stiffly. Stiles tilts his head at him.

"Why _did_ you come here?" Stiles settles down on the ground, curling his arms around his legs for some extra warmth. Derek shrugs. Stiles shrugs back. Derek quirks an eyebrow, Stiles mimics him back. Derek rolls his eyes and Stiles only smiles back him, not whole-heartedly but it's wide and amused.

"I came to tell you Scott wasn't here." Stiles glances around the area.

"Well, duh," he says, not finding anything so funny once he realizes why he was here in the first place. "You know if there was nobody here waiting for me I'd get the message, dude." Derek looks genuinely uncomfortable now whereas Stiles got the impression the scowling before was for show, it doesn't seem so much now.

"Sorry," he says, moving to stand up. Stiles almost stands up with him. "I'll just go."

"Woah," Stiles replies, "I was just kidding, man." He gets the feeling Derek doesn't like being called _dude_ or _man_. But hey, the brief looks of outrage on his face are totally worth it. Derek reluctantly sits back down, looking a little shy.

"You don't have to pity me," he says. "Don't feel like you have to stay, I'm not McCall."

"Well, I'm here now. So, you can totally pity _me_ and talk to me for the next hour because I've got shit else to do today."

"Okay," he says slowly, like he's unsure if this is a good idea. "What's up?" Stiles laughs at the stiffness in his words, and Derek scowls at him again. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," Stiles calms himself. "It's just- you don't seem like the kind of guy that says _what's up_ a lot."

"Well, I live in a prison. Usually all that's up is the attempted suicide rate." Stiles laughs, despite the probable seriousness of Derek's words, but Derek smiles back all the same.

"All's quiet on my side, dude. Got a shit ton of homework that needs to doin', though."

"You have homework?" Derek asks, like this information genuinely surprises him.

"Yup. I got calc and history," he sighs, dreading the night ahead of him. He sees Adderall and coffee in his future.

"You're still in high school," Derek says, and it's less of a question than it is a statement. Stiles wonders if Derek's ever heard of a question mark.

"Yup," Stiles nods his head. "Senior." Derek nods his head back.

"You gonna go to college?" Derek pushes on, even though he doesn't seem particularly interested in the answer, not that Stiles has a definite answer, or any answer at all.

"We'll see how things go." Derek nods again. The truth is Stiles hasn't even thought of college, he doesn't even know what he wants for dinner, never mind what he wants to do in life. He supposes he hasn't thought about it much because that would mean accepting the idea of leaving Scott behind. He doesn't know if he'd have the heart, not that Scott would even stand for him staying.

"I never finished," Derek continues, thankfully pulling Stiles away from his thoughts. He pushes them away, he'll deal with them later when he's not talking to some stranger.

"College?" Stiles asks.

"High school." Stiles feels his eyebrows shoot up before he can stop them, and Derek's eyes follow them up his forehead.

"Sorry," Stiles says, dipping his head. "I always find it strange that people don't finish. Scott barely even got the chance to start." He feels sad all of a sudden, that Scott is missing out on everything that Stiles has been through. Scott would be on first line, he was always good.

Derek nods, like he's a fucking bobblehead, and Stiles barely contain the roll of his eyes, so he moves the conversation forward, sensing an awkward silence on the way.

"So how are thing on your side?" Stiles asks. As disgusting and inhumane as he finds the facility, he's always curious to know the inner workings of the place. He finds it interesting, but aggravating most of the time. What can he says, he's a glutton for punishment.

"Everything's been calm since Isaac got back," he says, and then he looks like he immediately regretted it, judging by how his eyes widen comically and his eyebrows shoot up. Stiles would find it funny if he wasn't so confused.

"How is he?" he asks, and he's not sure if Derek's going to answer. It crushes him that he's responsible for causing Isaac trouble, too, Scott does nothing but talk the guy up. "He's okay, right?"

"Yeah," Derek says, clearing his throat. He's not sure why Derek's become so stilted, but he guesses it's because he knows Stiles is feeling guilty, or because he doesn't know how Isaac is at all. Maybe he just doesn't want to rub it in Stiles' face that the person he cares for actually came back.

This time an awkward silence _doe_s fall between them, and Stiles finds himself sitting with his head in his hands. It's when he finally thinks about why Derek is actually here, that he comes to another realization.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait," Stiles raises his hands up, palms flat out. "How did you know I was even here?" he points at the other man. "Like. The first time you came here. How did you know? I thought Scott didn't tell anybody. We agreed. Did he tell you?"

Derek takes a long breath in. "Let's just say, subtlety isn't exactly McCall's strong suit." Stiles snorts, but Derek seems more concerned about it than he does find it funny.

"And it only took four years to figure it out, huh?" Stiles winks, and Derek scowls.

"Shut up," he mutters. Stiles gets the sense that there's more bite to it than Derek means there to be. Derek could literally grab him right now and eat him if he so pleased, so he knows he's not actually pissing the guy off. Stiles just gives him a shit-eating grin and Derek dips his gaze to the floor, shaking his head.

Well, not pissing him off _that_ much.

**So it's Christmas in two days, why not give me the gift of a review or a follow/whatever? Feedback's always appreciated!**

**Happy Holidays!**


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